


Becoming Determinant - Tobias' Story

by Windchimed



Category: Divergent Series - Veronica Roth
Genre: Allegiant, Divergent, F/M, Gen, Insurgent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-23
Updated: 2015-08-30
Packaged: 2018-02-10 01:13:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 44
Words: 132,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2005347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Windchimed/pseuds/Windchimed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For a long time, we kiss like that, and I forget that the others are there, forget that there's a war outside the train, forget that we no longer have a home or a position in an uncertain world....  Tobias' perspective from before "Divergent" through my "Determinant" alternate 3rd book, with lots of original scenes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Before "Divergent" - Bad Date

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own "Divergent" or "Insurgent" or "Allegiant" or the characters, dialogue, plot lines, etc. that came from those books. All of that belongs to Veronica Roth.
> 
> A/N: Unless otherwise stated, this story is told from Tobias/Four's POV. It starts before "Divergent" and will run through at least the end of that book. I'll probably add some chapters after that, too. The story is consistent with the following stories by Veronica Roth:
> 
> \- Divergent
> 
> \- Insurgent
> 
> \- Free Four: Tobias Tells the Divergent Knife-Throwing Scene
> 
> \- Four: The Transfer: A Divergent Story
> 
> It is also consistent with my "Determinant" alternate third book. However, it is not consistent with "Allegiant" or with the later "Four" stories, since those conflict with key plot points that I had in place before they were published.

**Before "Divergent" - Bad Date**

This is _not_ going well. It probably wouldn't be even if Zeke and his current date weren't making out on the other side of the booth, though that certainly doesn't help. They only met an hour ago, but they've obviously hit it off a lot better than Carol and I have.

We look around awkwardly, trying to ignore our lip-locked table partners while coming up with some type of small talk. You'd think I'd be better at that skill after sixteen years of living in Abnegation, with how good they are at making people feel comfortable without saying anything of substance. But I never did spend much time around my fellow faction members, not with my father insisting that I stay isolated.

So, now I sit here trying to figure out how on earth to have a conversation with a girl while the friend who was supposed to be guiding me completely ignores me. And I don't seem to be doing a good job on my own, at least not judging by Carol's expression. In fact, if I had to guess, I'd say I've somehow offended her. That would explain the annoyance mixed in with her slight sneer of disgust.

I sigh, wondering when it would be considered acceptable to leave – and wondering how much I care about waiting until then. Part of me feels like I should use this as a learning opportunity, since I do at some point want to have a better date than this. But I just don't know how much there is to learn from this particular girl. She's simply not that interesting.

My eyes wander around the room, taking in the other couples as well as the single people scattered throughout the bar. I must not be used to Dauntless appearances yet, because I can't honestly say that _any_ of them look terribly appealing. They're pierced and tattooed on virtually every visible piece of skin, and given just how _much_ skin they have exposed, that's saying something.

God, I'm still such a Stiff.

"Are we done here?" Carol asks, her mouth pulled down in distaste, barely bothering to look at me.

"Yeah," I say, rising and walking off without a backward glance. It's not until I reach the bar that I realize she might have been suggesting that she and I go somewhere else together. I doubt it, though, and even if she was, it's too late now.

"I'll take a beer," I tell the bartender as I seat myself on an empty stool. She hands it to me as she passes by, not stopping to chat. I can't blame her. I'm probably radiating social ineptitude. At least, that's what Zeke says, and given how much everyone seems to like him, he's probably a pretty good judge of that.

"I take it the date didn't go well," a deep voice says from my left, and I turn quickly in that direction. Amar gives me a half smile as he takes the stool next to me.

"Oh, it was a blast," I mutter.

The corners of Amar's mouth twitch upwards. "Like a bomb blast? Destroyed everything in sight?" I just nod.

"Yeah, I haven't had any luck tonight, either," he says calmly, motioning to the bartender. She gives him a smile as she sets a drink in front of him, pausing to exchange a few light words. Great – even Amar is better with women than I am, and he's gay.

"Don't worry about it," Amar says. "You'll meet someone eventually. So will I. Dry spells are normal."

"Don't you need _rain_ first before you can call it a dry spell?" I ask, quirking an eyebrow at him. He chuckles.

"Give it time," he says in that easy tone he's mastered so well. "It's gotta be hard transitioning from Abnegation to here."

I look away, not answering. I don't like being reminded of where I came from, even if I was just thinking the same thing myself. I'm Dauntless now. It's important to act like it, no matter what my thoughts might be.

"Actually, I'm glad I ran into you tonight," Amar says after a moment. "There's something I want to talk to you about." My gaze returns to him curiously.

"It's time to start preparing for the next round of initiates, and Lauren just told me she's not able to be my assistant trainer this year. Would you have any interest in taking her place?"

The words surprise me. I only completed initiation seven months ago myself, and while I've been taking Amar's advanced classes ever since, it's hard to imagine that I'm qualified to be a trainer at this point. Or even an assistant one.

He obviously senses my hesitation, because he smiles casually. "You might not realize this, Four, but you're exceptionally talented at the skills we want our new members to learn." He takes a swig of his beer before continuing. "And judging by how much you helped Shauna, it's clear you're good at _teaching_ those skills, too."

For a moment, I'm silent, just staring at him. "How did you know about Shauna?" I ask a little nervously. I'm pretty sure we broke some rules by training after hours the way we did.

Amar chuckles again. "I know everything my initiates do, especially when they're breaking rules I choose not to enforce." He leans back a little. "I never did see the point in restricting access to the training rooms. Seems like a _good_ thing when initiates _want_ to work harder." He pauses to take another swallow of his beer. "Besides, I was kind of proud of you both the first time Shauna actually _won_ a fight instead of bleeding all over the floor."

I smile a bit at the memory, and he does too, shaking his head ruefully. "I thought she was going to end up factionless for sure," he comments, "but you certainly turned her around…. That's the kind of help I want with this year's initiates." He watches me for another moment, gauging my reaction, before asking, "You game for it?"

For a few long seconds, I stare at the bar, debating. At first brush, the whole idea seems absurd. Yeah, I like training – I certainly spend plenty of time shooting and throwing knives and punching bags. But how can I teach others to belong to this faction when I don't even know how to be Dauntless myself? Still, I know Amar wouldn't be asking me if he didn't think I could do the job.

I take a swig of my beer, buying time to answer, and suddenly it occurs to me that Amar wouldn't pick me just for my skills. He's always cared more about attitude. I think of all the conversations we've had, and how he's hinted so many times that this faction has lost its way and that it no longer follows the values it was founded on. Maybe he's picking me precisely _because_ I don't fit in well with how Dauntless is now.

Maybe he wants to rebuild the traditional values, one initiation class at a time, and he sees me as a potential partner in that effort. The thought fills me with an emotion I barely recognize because I've felt it so rarely. _Pride._

My eyes turn back to him, meeting his gaze evenly. "Yeah, I'm in."

Amar smiles, lifting his bottle toward me in a toast. "To working together," he says.

I nod as I raise my bottle to meet his. "To working together," I repeat. If nothing else, this promises to be interesting.


	2. Before "Divergent" – Kindness

**Before "Divergent" – Kindness**

Sometimes, Zeke can be a real pain in the ass. After two months of training initiates, I finally go out for a night with my buddy, and he spends the entire time ignoring me and flirting with girls. And then when he's too drunk to walk on his own, _I'm_ the one who has to get him back to his apartment and make sure he's okay.

I sigh as I haul him down yet another corridor, supporting half his weight with the arm I have wrapped around his back. Maybe I should have left him in the bar. I'm sure they'd have done _something_ with him at closing time….

He starts to sag, and I shift my grip enough to hold him up. At least he doesn't weigh that much, since he's short and slight, but it's still awkward to hang onto him, particularly since I don't like touching people. It's my inner Stiff, I suppose, though frankly I'm also worried that he'll vomit all over me at any moment.

Fortunately, he doesn't, or at least not in the hallway. When I finally get him to the door of his apartment, I fumble with the doorknob, hoping against hope that it's unlocked. I don't want to try to find the keys in my incoherent friend's pockets.

I breathe a small sigh of relief when the knob turns. "You're lucky," I mutter. "I'd have dumped you right here if it was locked."

"Well, that's not very nice," a clear voice says from inside the apartment. I start, looking up quickly, and spot Zeke's younger brother, Uriah, grinning at me.

"What are you doing here?" I ask him suspiciously. It's very late for a fifteen-year-old to be up. Besides, Uriah doesn't live with Zeke – he lives with their mother.

He shrugs casually. "It's a Saturday. I knew Zeke would be drinking." He steps closer, reaching out to support his brother from the other side. "And given his break-up, it was a safe bet he'd get drunk enough to need help."

For a second, I stare at him blankly. I didn't know Zeke was dating anyone seriously, let alone that they'd broken up. That would explain a lot about his behavior tonight.

"Let's get him on the couch," Uriah says, gesturing toward the nearby sofa, and together we walk him over there and deposit him reasonably gently onto it. As we drop him the last few inches, I notice that the fabric is covered with some type of plastic I haven't seen on it before. Uriah must have placed it there to make the inevitable vomit easier to clean.

"Who'd he break up with?" I ask, hating to admit that I don't know but feeling like it's better to find out from Uriah now than from Zeke later.

He quirks an eyebrow at me. "You never met Rachel? They dated for close to a month."

I shrug, a bit embarrassed. "I've been training initiates." It's a lame excuse, and I know it, since training doesn't occupy every hour of the day, but Uriah is kind enough not to comment on it.

"Well, you probably won't meet her now," he answers after a moment. "It was an ugly breakup."

I nod, feeling like a very bad friend.

"If you need to get home," I tell Uriah, more out of guilt than anything else, "I can stay here and make sure he doesn't die during the night."

"Nah, that's okay," he says with his trademark grin. "Mom won't notice I'm gone until late morning, and I should be able to sneak back in by then. Besides, it's handy to have Zeke owe me a favor."

I nod again, but something nags at me, and I find myself wondering what Uriah's really up to. In some ways, his behavior seems typically Dauntless – sneaking out in the middle of the night, risking getting in trouble if he was caught by his mother or by any of a number of people who might turn him in, just to get his brother to owe him a favor.

But I can tell that's not really his reason. I may never have lived in Candor, but I'm far better than most people at telling when someone is lying. And right now, Uriah is.

I watch as he moves Zeke into a reclining position, propping pillows under him so he'll be more comfortable, and slowly a realization dawns on me. He's here simply because his brother needs him – and because he cares enough to _want_ to help. It's a strikingly kind thing to do. Too kind for Dauntless.

And in that moment, I get why Uriah has always reminded me a bit of Amar. Why he reminds me of Emily from our current group of initiates. Why he sometimes even reminds me of myself. _He's Divergent._

I have no proof, and I certainly wouldn't say anything yet even if I did, but I'm sure of it all the same. And that means he's in danger. _My best friend's brother is in danger._ I can't help but feel like it's my responsibility to keep him safe.

"There's a drink in the 'fridge," Uriah comments, "if you wouldn't mind getting it. It'll prevent a hangover." He looks at me before adding, "You can have some too if you want."

"How's it taste?" I ask as I head into the kitchen. I didn't have that much to drink, but it was probably enough for a pounding headache in the morning.

"Oh, it's god-awful," Uriah states with a laugh. "But it works."

I end up declining after I see it – or more accurately, after I smell it. It's an atrocious looking sludge with an odor somewhat like rotting carrots, but together we manage to get some down Zeke's throat. I wonder vaguely how many times Uriah has done this.

"You may as well go to bed, Four," he says after a while, and I nod, realizing just how tired I've gotten.

"If you need help later, come get me," I tell him, and he smiles in thanks.

A thousand thoughts run through my head as I walk back to my apartment, but I don't come to any conclusions. Except maybe one. I need to talk to Amar. Surely, together, we can come up with a way to protect Uriah. I have to hope so, anyway….


	3. Before "Divergent" - Amar's Funeral

**Before "Divergent" - Amar's Funeral**

_They killed him._ As I stand here listening to Max's speech, that's the one thought that keeps going through my head. The Dauntless leaders _murdered_ Amar because he was Divergent. Fury seeps through me, cold and vicious, the more times the thought repeats.

It's not hard to guess how they figured it out, either. He hid plenty of us over his career, deleting our simulation results when needed and quietly advising us on how to keep our Divergence from being noticed. At some point, one of the leaders was bound to catch on and to start "questioning" those they suspected. From there, it was only a matter of time before someone gave in to the torture and ratted Amar out.

It sickens me that in the faction of the brave, anyone would turn him in just to save themselves pain. I hope whoever it was is dead now, too.

"Amar dared to face that great unknown that so many of us fear!" Max calls to the crowd, and hundreds of voices cheer in response. They think they're honoring Amar's courage, but to me it feels like just another way to participate in the lie. Max may have been the one who killed him, after all. Even if he wasn't, he undoubtedly knew about it, and now he's here claiming it was suicide – and acting the role of supportive leader. It makes bile rise in my throat.

But I stand here stone-faced, the way I do at most funerals where I knew the deceased at all. I can't give anyone a reason to suspect that I'm like Amar, that I'm Divergent too.

My eyes turn to the urn in Max's hands. I didn't even get to see Amar's body, didn't even get the small sense of closure that might have provided. They say it was too mangled to recognize, after he supposedly jumped in front of an oncoming train, and they used that excuse to cremate him immediately. But it's easy to guess the real reason: the body must have shown clear signs of murder.

"So, now let us say goodbye to one of our best!" Max shouts loudly enough to be heard over the crashing water of the chasm. "One of our bravest!"

As the air echoes with another round of shouts, he turns toward the railing and tosses the first set of ashes over it. For a moment, I watch them drift through the air, hanging in the mist that rises from the raging waters before they're sucked down into the river below. I'm still watching where they disappeared as he hands the urn to Maria so she can toss the next set. The leaders must take turns, after all, I think bitterly, as they dispose of someone as important as Amar. I can't help but wonder if they took turns executing him, too.

And now they'll appoint someone else to take his place – someone who will train the initiates to be cruel and ruthless. Someone who will turn in any Divergents they find. This is already the hardest faction to join; I pity the teenagers who select it in the next Choosing Ceremony.

The thought sends an unexpected spike of terror through me, and my eyes turn automatically to where Zeke and his younger brother stand nearby. Uriah just turned sixteen. He'll be selecting his faction in a few months. And I still think he's Divergent.

It's as if ice clenches around my stomach. I can't let my best friend's brother die like Amar. I have to do something, have to convince him to switch to another faction…. But as the two brothers stand there together, their arms around each other's shoulders, each comforting the other, I know there's no way Uriah will leave here. He loves his family too much, and he's brave enough to risk his life to stay with them.

I force my eyes back to the leaders, not wanting to draw attention to Uriah. Max is just wrapping up the funeral now, saying a few meaningless words that are supposed to console all of us. I watch him expressionlessly, and slowly the reality of what I need to do sinks into me.

I helped Amar train the last set of initiates, which means I'm qualified to teach the next set, too. Normally, I wouldn't be in charge of that effort, not with so little experience, but Max has been trying to get me to become a Dauntless leader for ages. Surely, if he thinks I can do _that_ job, he must think my leadership skills are sufficient for initiation.

It's an absurdly dangerous job for me to seek out, given my own Divergence, but as my eyes return to the chasm, I suddenly know I have to do it. It's the only way to truly honor Amar, and it's probably the only way to keep Uriah safe.

I watch the mist in the air for another moment as the crowd begins to disperse, before I turn away with the others. I'll talk to Max tomorrow.

_No_ , I tell myself firmly. I'll talk to him _today_. As we always remind the initiates, it's better to face fear head-on.


	4. "Divergent" Chapter 6 - Tris Arrives at Dauntless

**"** **Divergent" Chapter 6 - Tris Arrives at Dauntless**

At least the platform isn't high enough to trigger my fear. I don't stand by the edge, but it's not a problem to look at the crowd gathered ten feet below. In their black clothes, they blend into the darkness around them, hidden in Dauntless' usual dim lighting. But metal flashes here and there as they move, as the jewelry in their many piercings catches bits of light and reflects it. The effect is eerie, or it will be for the initiates anyway. I've gotten too used to Dauntless to give it much thought anymore.

The huge net stretches out beside me, waiting for this year's group of frightened teenagers to drop into it. As I look at it, I think about Zeke and Shauna. They've been debating all day which of their younger siblings will be the first jumper. I've been careful not to take sides. Zeke is my closest friend, so it's tricky to admit that Shauna's probably right.

It's not that Uriah isn't brave enough to do it. He is. But after the veiled warnings I gave him before his aptitude test, he probably knows by now that he's Divergent – assuming I'm right about him. And if that's the case, he'll know to stay under the radar as much as possible.

So, no, I don't see Uriah jumping first. Lynn, on the other hand, is constantly trying to prove herself. It's easy to imagine her leaping off the building first, though I suppose it could be one of the others. There are several I barely know, and a couple I've never even met.

There will be transfers, too, of course, but they almost never jump first. I can't blame them; I was the last jumper in my class. Launching myself off the roof without knowing what waited below wasn't something I wanted to do my first day here, or anytime, really. I'm still afraid of heights.

Max's voice filters down from the rooftop overhead, barely audible over the noise of the crowd. I know they're trying to be quiet, trying to keep a low profile as they wait to cheer the new initiates, but they're Dauntless – loud by nature.

After a short time, Max grows silent, and I know he's presenting the initiates with the opportunity to prove their courage by being the first to jump. We still have a few minutes to wait. Even those who grew up in Dauntless, and know there's a net to catch them, need some time to gather their courage.

My fellow trainer, Lauren, starts to say something, and I'm turning toward her when I'm startled by a flash in the corner of my eyes, followed by the sound of someone hitting the net. There wasn't even a scream.

At first, I think Max must have jumped for some reason, since I can't imagine an initiate jumping that soon or that quietly their first time. But then I see the form in the net – a small, slight girl dressed all in gray, in Abnegation clothes. For a moment, I simply stare at her in surprise. Almost no one transfers from Abnegation to Dauntless – I'm the only one in the last fourteen years – and I doubt any of the others jumped first. She may be unique in faction history.

She looks up, realizing that she's safely on a net, and laughs, covering her face with her hands for a second. When she emerges, I'm caught by her eyes. They flash with energy, with the wild enthusiasm that represents Dauntless at its best, and it's easy to see why she chose this place.

Hands are reaching into the net, offering to help her climb out, and I find myself extending my own hand among them. I'm not quite sure why I do that, since I generally avoid touching people, but there's something compelling about those eyes, and about the idea of someone from my former faction being here.

The girl reaches out, grabbing my hand from among all the choices. That feels right somehow, the only two "Stiffs" here finding each other. I pull her from the net onto the platform, trying to remember how I got out of the net when I arrived here two years ago. The memory doesn't come – I must have been too filled with fear to notice anything beyond it at the time.

She stumbles, almost falling as her feet try to find a hold on the poorly lit platform, and my hands catch her automatically, steadying her. For a moment, our eyes meet as she gains her balance, and again I'm startled by their intensity. They radiate fiercely, wide and gray-blue on a narrow face that's framed with long blond hair. She has it pulled into the classic Abnegation bun, and abruptly I'm struck by the simple beauty of that tradition. I wonder how long she'll continue to wear it that way.

Once she's standing, I let go of her promptly, knowing she won't want to be touched any more than necessary. She'll have the same Abnegation habits I did – still do, really. It's strange to think of seeing those traits in someone else again, but I have to admit, it's kind of a nice thought. I hadn't realized how much I've missed that.

"Thank you," she says, her voice unusually low for a girl's, particularly for one so small.

Lauren's voice rises from behind me. "Can't believe it. A Stiff, the first to jump? Unheard of." Lauren's a decent person, but I find myself annoyed that she's applying that term to someone who just proved herself Dauntless at heart.

"There's a reason why she left them, Lauren," I respond without turning around, my gaze still drawn by the newcomer's eyes. I lean toward her so she can hear me over the noise of the crowd and ask, "What's your name?"

"Um…" she begins, and then hesitates, clearly considering her options. I remember my Choosing Day, refusing to give my name, wanting to break from my past and redefine myself, and I smile a little.

"Think about it," I tell her. "You don't get to pick again."

She must come to her decision, because she answers firmly, "Tris."

Lauren repeats the name and then adds, "Make the announcement, Four."

I look over my shoulder and shout, "First jumper – Tris!" The crowd roars its approval as only Dauntless can – pumping their fists in the air, cheering, shouting, clapping, stomping. She seems uncertain how to respond, but at the same time as if she likes the chaotic enthusiasm. Then, a high-pitched scream pierces the air as another initiate falls, and the crowd laughs. I turn automatically to look and see another girl in the net, also a transfer, but in black and white clothes this time. She's from Candor. Two transfers in a row as the first two jumpers…. Tris must have started a trend.

And then the name clicks, and I realize who she is: Beatrice Prior. Our fathers work together on the city council. I used to see her walking with her family sometimes, though we never spoke, never met. For a moment, I can't help but wonder if she's here for the same reason I came, but then I think of the look on her face as she lay in the net, and I think it's more likely she chose Dauntless because it's who she is. Either way, this is her home now.

My hand reaches out on its own, resting on Tris' back for a moment, and I lean close again so she can hear me. "Welcome to Dauntless," I say.

Lauren pulls the second girl from the net, and I see her gravitate toward Tris. They must be friends from school, or perhaps they simply bonded on the way here in that immediate manner new initiates sometimes do. There's nothing like facing the unknown together to make people close.

There's no time to announce the second name, because the other initiates begin to fall in rapid succession. Uriah is third – the first of the Dauntless-born initiates as it turns out – with Lynn right behind him. I girl I know a little, Marlene, follows next. Most of the others are unfamiliar. I catch brief impressions, noting some of them more than others, but it's too early to judge much about them.

Max jumps last, his appearance indicating that all the initiates are safely in the building – well, the ones who made it this far, anyway. If this year is like most others, there will be at least one or two who didn't make it onto the train, or off it, and are now factionless. Dauntless isn't an easy faction to join.


	5. "Divergent" Chapter 7 - Touring Dauntless

 

**"** **Divergent" Chapter 7 - Touring Dauntless**

Lauren, Max, and I lead the initiates away from the net and toward the Pit. I see several of the transfers stumbling and remember how dark this place seems at first. They'll get used to it.

When we reach the split, I turn to face the initiates, crossing my arms in front of my chest. Max and Lauren do the same, and I'm sure we create an intimidating barrier.

"This is where we divide," Lauren tells the group. "The Dauntless-born initiates are with me. I assume _you_ don't need a tour of the place." She smiles and beckons to them, and they follow her without question. I watch Uriah walking with them and feel a small pang of worry. I tried to take charge of the Dauntless-borns, for his sake, but Max put me with the transfers anyway. He said their odds of making it were better with a fellow transfer instructing them, but I think he was really punishing me for still refusing to be a Dauntless leader. Sometimes, when I see the direction Eric and the others are taking this faction, I regret my refusal, but I would have hated working with Max, with all of them.

I turn back to scan the transfers. There are nine of them, mostly from Erudite and Candor. No one joined from Amity, and Tris is the only one from Abnegation. The numbers are not surprising – larger than the last two years but still small. If they knew in advance what they'd be facing in initiation, I'm sure the number would be even smaller.

"Most of the time I work in the control room," I tell them, "but for the next few weeks, I am your instructor. My name is Four."

The second jumper, the girl from Candor, pipes up. "Four? Like the number?"

"Yes," I reply firmly. "Is there a problem?" The Candor are always difficult, so I might as well get this over with right up front.

"No," she says, showing a bit more tact than I expect, at least for now.

"Good," I continue. "We're about to go into the Pit, which you will someday learn to love. It—" but the same girl interrupts again.

"The Pit?" she laughs. "Clever name." So much for tact.

I keep my pace even and deliberate as I walk over to her, and then I lean close to her face and fix her with my most intimidating stare. "What's your name?" I ask, my voice quiet with menace.

"Christina," she responds squeakily.

"Well, Christina, if I wanted to put up with Candor smart-mouths, I would have joined their faction. The first lesson you will learn from me is to keep your mouth shut. Got that?"

She nods, unable or unwilling to speak, or perhaps just taking my instructions very literally. That's okay. They all need to learn this lesson, and it ensures that I have control of the group from the beginning. That will make it much easier to train them effectively.

For a long moment, the entire group is silent as they follow me, and then I hear Christina's voice very faintly behind me, whispering to one of the others. "What a jerk."

Tris' voice responds quietly, "I guess he doesn't like to be laughed at." That's not why I did it, but I suppose there's some truth to her statement.

As I push open the double doors that lead into the Pit, the initiates stare around, their eyes wide, and I can tell they now understand why we call it by that name. It's certainly an impressive space – a huge cavern carved into rock, with walls that rise several stories, housing paths and small business areas. I give everyone time to absorb it all, watching their reactions to get a sense of their personalities.

Christina smiles openly as she looks around in wonder, clearly thrilled to be here. A large girl from Candor stares open-mouthed, while the shiny-haired boy next to her watches the people more than the place. He reminds me of Eric, and I make a mental note to keep an eye on him.

My gaze wanders back to Tris. She's looking at the narrow paths lining the room, worry visible on her face as she sees small children run along them, high above the ground with no railing. Yes, it takes a while to get used to that sight.

Finally, it's time to move on. "If you follow me," I tell them, "I'll show you the chasm."

I lead them along the right side of the Pit, into one of the darkest parts of the room. The sound of crashing water gets louder the closer we come. I stop by the railing, letting the initiates catch up, and giving their eyes time to adjust to the dim lighting. The chasm is beautiful, despite the sense of height I feel when I look over the railing, and for a moment, I simply let them view it.

"The chasm reminds us that there is a fine line between bravery and idiocy!" I shout above the roaring of the water. "A daredevil jump off this ledge will end your life. It has happened before and it will happen again. You've been warned."

As I lead them back toward the main part of the Pit, I hear Christina saying, "This is incredible." Her voice is full of awe and excitement. She'll do fine here if she can learn to control her Candor instincts.

Tris' voice responds, calmer, but with an overtone I can't quite read. "Incredible is the word." Her biggest challenge will be making it through the first stage of initiation. Size is a distinct advantage in that stage, and she's the smallest of the group. But everything about her radiates Dauntless – if she can get through stage one, I have no doubt she'll do well.

It's dinner time, and I can almost see the hunger in the initiates' eyes as I lead them into the dining hall. They've had a rough day, but I can't reassure them that tomorrow will be better, because it won't be. Realistically, it won't get easier for quite a while.

As we enter the room, the Dauntless stand and cheer for their new initiates, shouting and stomping with trademark enthusiasm. I glance at the initiates' reactions, seeing the hesitant smile on the huge Candor boy's face, the small Erudite girl hiding behind her larger faction-mate, the fake innocence of the shiny-haired boy. My eyes stop on Tris. Her face is lit with a grin that reshapes her features and makes it hard to look away. I smile a little in response without intending to.

As we all look for empty seats, I find myself selecting the chair next to her. Christina sits on her other side and immediately begins helping herself to the food that's piled in the center of the table. Tris is much more hesitant, staring at the hamburger patties and then pinching one like it's a foreign concept.

She won't have eaten these before, or even seen them, since they aren't served for school lunches and aren't part of Abnegation fare. I nudge her with my elbow and say quietly, "It's beef." I pass her a bowl of ketchup and add, "Put this on it."

"You've never had a hamburger before?" Christina asks incredulously.

"No," Tris responds matter-of-factly. "Is that what it's called?" I like her calmness. Most people would rise to the bait of a comment like that, but she doesn't even acknowledge there's bait there.

"Stiffs eat plain food," I explain to Christina, feeling somehow compelled to back Tris up. I hate the term "Stiff" but I use it anyway. It's better if the others don't realize what we have in common.

"Why?" Christina asks with typical Candor directness.

Tris answers with a shrug, "Extravagance is considered self-indulgent and unnecessary."

This seems to amuse Christina. With a smirk, she says, "No wonder you left."

Tris rolls her eyes and comments drolly, "Yeah, it was just because of the food." A smile tugs at my mouth. She has a sense of humor. That's not common in Abnegation, but it will help her here. There's something more to her response, though…. She deflected the conversation subtly, and now Christina is much less likely to ask why she really transferred here. It was very cleverly done.

I'm about to respond when Eric walks into the room, and my body tenses instinctively, the words forgotten in my mouth. The dining hall grows uncharacteristically quiet, so I know I'm not the only one who notices the extra anger in his walk – in his whole appearance. He looks like he wants to strangle someone.

"Who's that?" Christina hisses, and I remember she's there.

"His name is Eric. He's a Dauntless leader," I answer levelly.

"Seriously? But he's so young."

That notion needs to be corrected now. Initiates are not treated as children here, not even remotely. They will have the freedoms and responsibilities of adults from this day forward, and it's important they know that.

I look straight at her and state flatly, "Age doesn't matter here."

The same reaction flits over Christina's and Tris' faces simultaneously, but before they can ask anything else, we all see Eric walking toward us. His eyes are on me, and it's obvious his anger is directed at me too. Of course it is.

Eric drops into the seat next to me and demands, "Well, aren't you going to introduce me?" Like he cares – I know perfectly well he's after me, not them, but I answer evenly.

"This is Tris and Christina."

"Ooh, a Stiff," Eric responds with an almost greedy smile, and I suddenly wish I hadn't chosen to sit next to Tris. Eric is one of the few people who knows I came from Abnegation, and now he'll think that I'm sitting by her because I care about that link. He'll think that if he goes after Tris, that might get to me, so he'll try it. She's already the smallest initiate, and now she'll have this disadvantage too, and it will be my fault. I should have kept my distance.

Eric smirks at Tris a moment longer, his many piercings pulling at his lips, creating a deeply menacing look. She winces and drops her eyes, and he says, "We'll see how long you last." Fortunately, she has the sense not to respond.

After a moment, he grows bored and turns back to me, drumming his fingers on the table. He obviously wants something, but I'm not going to give him the satisfaction of asking what it is, so I simply wait.

"What have you been doing lately, Four?" he finally asks, and a flare of fear shoots through me. Has he figured out that I've been looking at the secure Dauntless files? That I've found the war plans the Erudite sent to us?

Keeping my expression even, I shrug and answer casually, "Nothing, really."

"Max tells me he keeps trying to meet with you, and you don't show up," Eric continues. "He requested that I find out what's going on with you."

That's an obvious lie. I saw Max a half hour ago, and he didn't say anything about wanting to meet with me. He hasn't said anything in the last few weeks, either, as we prepared for initiation. No, he gave up trying to recruit me months ago, about the time I decided I would prefer to go factionless rather than continue living in Dauntless. Eric is here for another reason. Whatever it is can't be good.

I think carefully about how to respond. If Eric is suspicious of my time in the control room, I need to change his focus. And the best way to do that is to hit his insecurities.

"Tell him that I am satisfied with the position I currently hold," I state firmly. Either he already knows that I was Max's first choice for leadership, and this reminder will irritate him, or he doesn't know, and the idea will infuriate him. Either way, it should take his attention off my other activities.

"So he wants to give you a job," Eric responds with a definite edge to his voice.

"So it would seem," I answer guardedly, as if I don't want him to know this. That will cement his attention.

"And you aren't interested." It's a statement, not a question. I decide to add the final blow.

"I haven't been interested for two years." _That's right_ , I think fiercely, _you're only a leader because I declined the position first._

For a moment, we just glare at each other as I let that reality sink in.

"Well," Eric finally responds, "let's hope he gets the point, then." He rises, clapping me on the shoulder painfully hard, and marches away with even more anger in his posture than before. _He didn't know._ Suddenly, I'm not sure it was a good idea to tell him. There will be repercussions.

Tris' voice startles me as she asks, "Are you two…friends?" I had forgotten she was there.

"We were in the same initiate class," I answer automatically. "He transferred from Erudite."

That must catch Tris' attention because there's some excitement in her voice as she asks, "Were you a transfer too?"

My focus shifts fully to Tris, and I remember the way Eric looked at her, like he wants to hurt her, like he wants to make sure she fails. And now he's even angrier at me, even more likely to go after her to get to me. I've just put her in danger, yet she's asking me questions like she thinks I'm her friend. I should put a stop to that idea.

"I thought I would only have trouble with the Candor asking too many questions," I say, cold anger in my voice. "Now I've got Stiffs, too?"

To my surprise, Tris answers levelly, "It must be because you're so approachable. You know. Like a bed of nails." There's no fear at all in her eyes or her voice. She instantly knew to back down from Eric – no, to hide from him, but she's not afraid of me. Have I shown that much kindness to her, or is she just that good at recognizing true threats?

I fix her with the same glare I used on Christina earlier, the one that intimidates everyone, but again, there's no sign of fear. She looks directly at me, accepting my challenge calmly and choosing to face it. For a long moment, we stay like that, our eyes locked. The longer it continues, the fiercer her gaze gets, becoming bolder when her fear should be growing instead. It's more than a little intriguing, and I'm tempted to continue the staring contest to see if she has a breaking point, but this needs to end. She can't do this with Eric, or anyone else, or she'll cause herself trouble.

"Careful, Tris," I say, hoping she'll take the hint. Her eyes immediately drop, and I think again of the subtle way she redirected Christina's curiosity earlier. She's definitely smart. That's a mixed bag here, but hopefully she can use it to her advantage.

At that moment, Zeke calls my name, and I walk over to him, glad of the excuse to leave the table. I'm not sure what to make of Tris, which means my safest option is to keep some distance from her.

Zeke, on the other hand, wants to discuss her. The first words out of his mouth are, "So, is there some kind of special Stiff calendar tracking when my family turns sixteen? I mean, you were bad enough with your _four fears_ and all, but now _she_ comes along and jumps first in Uriah's year? What's up with that?"

He's grinning, but his words just remind me that Eric will see the same connection between us, and he's already spent two years thinking that he should have been first in our class – would have been if I hadn't come along and stolen that rank. My insides turn icy, but I keep it from showing. Even among my friends, I keep secrets automatically.

"Well, duh," I respond. "Weren't you paying attention in school? They talked about it in Faction class."

"I must have been out that day," Zeke sighs dramatically. "It figures."

Shauna turns to me with a more serious expression and asks, "What did Eric want?"

I shrug, saying, "It's always hard to tell with Eric, isn't it?"

Her eyes narrow suspiciously. "He was looking at the initiates," she comments. "Any idea why?" She'll be worried about Lynn, of course. She knows better than most what Eric is like. She hadn't finished growing when we were initiates together, and she struggled with fighting. Eric was brutal to her. If Zeke and I hadn't been there, it's hard to say what would have happened.

"He was interested in the Stiff," I admit. "But he didn't seem to care about the others."

Zeke leans forward, his face grave now. "You don't think he'll go after her, do you? I mean, Eric's sick and all, but she's _tiny_."

"I don't know," I answer honestly. "I wouldn't put it past him, but presumably he needs some excuse, other than hating all of Abnegation just because I came from there."

"He's a leader now," Shauna says with a grim expression. "He doesn't need an excuse. As if the lack of one ever stopped him before." Her face is bitter, and my stomach twists even more. No, I certainly haven't done Tris any favors her first day here.

Abruptly, I need to be done with this conversation. I stand, saying, "You two keep guessing if you want. I'm going to talk with the other initiates."

I walk to the table where the shiny-haired boy from Candor sits. He already reminds me of Eric, so I might as well start with him.

* * *

As dinner is wrapping up, I rise from the last table. I now know all the initiates' names and have a small sense of who they are. It's enough for tonight, anyway. I'm about to gather them together for the rest of the tour when Maria approaches me. I tense instinctively.

"A word, Four," she murmurs, placing her hand on my arm. It's all I can do not to shake it off.

Maria is one of the senior Dauntless leaders. It's rumored that she groomed Max for his position and that much of the current tone in Dauntless is due to her. I believe it. We haven't had many interactions over the two years I've been here, but I remember each of them clearly, and definitely not favorably.

The irony is that she's probably the most beautiful woman I've ever seen. She's certainly the type I used to stare at when I was younger, anyway – curvy, with flawless olive skin, thick, wavy hair, full lips, and perfect features. I suppose it's a sign of how much I've matured that I don't find her even remotely attractive. All I can think when I look at her now is how much I dislike her.

"Can it wait?" I ask, trying to keep the tension out of my voice. "I need to show the initiates to their dorm."

"Oh, you won't be doing that," she says with a little smile. "Eric will take care of it while you and I chat."

"Eric?" I demand. "What's he got to do with this?"

"Well, that's what we're going to talk about, now, isn't it?" she says with false sweetness, her voice still low, her hand still on my arm. And I know I have no choice. I can't flat-out ignore a direct order from a senior leader, and however she phrases it, that's what this is.

I nod stiffly, extracting my arm from her grasp. "Fine. What do you want?"

"Let's go to my office," she states. Without waiting for an answer, she leads the way, and I have no choice but to follow. I glance at the initiates as I pass, hating to leave them in Eric's hands, but then I'm out the door, following Maria to the glass building above us.

Her office is large and filled with fancy furniture. Two of the walls are made entirely of glass, the outer walls of the building. Through them, I catch a clear view of the city's skyline, and the street well below that. We're high enough that the people look like ants, unrecognizable far, far beneath us. The sight sends a wave of vertigo through me, but I ignore it and turn toward Maria instead.

She shuts the door and waves me toward a chair. I should probably sit; it will look less hostile, but I'm too angry and too worried, so I just cross my arms and glare at her. "Why is Eric involved with the initiates?" I demand again.

"He made a very good point," she responds in her quiet, seductive voice. "He reminded me how important initiation is in making sure that Dauntless stays on the path we've set. And if we want to be sure our newest members follow that path, the leaders need to be directly involved."

My stomach clenches, but she continues. "Of course, if you had accepted Max's offer, we wouldn't be in this position, but sadly you insisted on going your own way. So, when Eric volunteered to oversee this year's initiation, I had to say yes." She smiles the same little smile. I feel an almost overwhelming urge to wipe it off her face, but I know this is really Eric's fault, his idea, and I know perfectly well why he did it. I made him feel that I'm a threat to his job, so now he's proving that he can take mine. He's leaving no doubt that he's in charge. And all the initiates will suffer for it. I'm as bad as the Candor – I should have kept my mouth shut.

"So, Eric's going to do all the training, and you don't need me anymore, is that it?" I ask.

"Oh, I don't think we need to go that far," she answers calmly. "Eric will just keep an eye on things. You and Lauren can still do most of the training. After all, you're very good at it, and we want the initiates to learn from the best."

Of course. Eric doesn't want to take my job completely. He wants to make me follow his orders in front of everyone. It will amuse him to make me watch as he treats the initiates cruelly, as he forces me to be cruel too.

For a moment, I seriously consider quitting, just leaving Dauntless now and becoming factionless a few months earlier than I planned. If I'm not there, Eric won't have any reason to mess with initiation, and maybe someone else can take over. But I know Maria better than that. There's no way she would let him back out if I quit; instead, she'd make him do all the work, replace me completely, and that would be even worse.

If I stay, Eric will focus his attention on me. That means he'll leave the Dauntless-borns mostly alone. The odds are very high that he'll also leave me to run the simulations – he'll consider that dull, and beneath him. So, if I stay, I can still help Uriah, can keep him safe if I'm right that he's Divergent. Tris' face flits through my mind, and I realize I don't want Eric running her simulations either. I've already caused her enough trouble; I need to do what I can to correct that. There's no real choice here.

"Fine," I say, unable to keep the anger out of my voice. "I would have thought that Eric had more to do, what with being a leader and all, but if he doesn't have any real work, then by all means, send him down."

Maria smiles again, the same tight, false smile as always. "Thank you for your cooperation," she says. The words are a dismissal, and I seize the opportunity, turning on my heel and heading out the door before she can change her mind. I feel like I'm going to be sick, but I push it down and head to the training room. I need to shoot something.


	6. "Divergent" Chapter 8 – First Day of Training

**"** **Divergent" Chapter 8 – First Day of Training**

I'm in a foul mood when I wake up, my mind still filled with dreams of Eric torturing the initiates and making me watch. I shower quickly, letting the cold water bring me to full alertness, before I head to the training room.

Fortunately, Eric isn't there, and I'm able to avoid thinking about him as I set everything up for the morning session.

The initiates arrive in groups, having already formed preliminary friendships. Edward and Myra are first, and Edward looks at the guns with the same eagerness I saw in his eyes yesterday. Myra, on the other hand, watches him instead of the room, making me shake my head a little. It's clear that he's the one who chose Dauntless, and she followed because they're dating. That's a poor reason to attempt this faction, and it won't serve her well when she fails and he doesn't.

Peter, Molly, and Drew are next, talking in loud Candor voices. I glare at them to get them to quiet down, not because the volume actually matters right now but because I'm in no mood for their jabber.

The others arrive shortly behind them, all coming in at once. My eyes fall on Tris and stay there for a moment. She's swapped out her gray clothes for black ones, and for some reason, I find myself evaluating how she looks in that color. But I snap my eyes away soon afterwards, reminding myself sharply that she's just another initiate. It doesn't matter that we both came from the same place; we're here now, and I'm her instructor. And after Eric's behavior last night, I can't let myself forget that.

"The first thing you will learn today," I tell them firmly, "is how to shoot a gun." And I pick up two guns, handing them to the nearest initiates. "The second thing is how to win a fight." I move down the line, giving each initiate a gun as I continue with the first-day training spiel.

When I reach Tris, I press the weapon into her palm, knowing she might not take it otherwise. I still remember how strange it felt to hold one of these for the first time. But I push the comparison away, along with the odd charge of static I feel when my fingers brush her hand, and I make sure not to look at her. Eric isn't here now, but there's no point in letting bad habits creep in.

"We believe that preparation eradicates cowardice," I say, continuing with the talk that Amar gave last year, while I push thoughts of him out of my mind, too. It's not any more helpful to think about him than about Tris and Abnegation. Fortunately, I've spent a lot of time practicing this speech over the last few weeks, and the words rattle out with very little attention on my part.

I'm describing the three stages of training when Peter opens his Candor mouth. "But what…" he says through an enormous yawn. "What does firing a gun have to do with…bravery?"

The words strike me wrong. I'm not entirely sure why, honestly, except that he still somehow reminds me of Eric, and he's sleepily and stupidly questioning me while holding a dangerous weapon.

Before I even think about what I'm doing, I've flipped my gun around and have placed the barrel to his forehead. As I click a bullet into the chamber, I snap, "Wake. Up. You are holding a loaded gun, you idiot. Act like it."

Peter freezes mid-yawn, his mouth hanging open, and I realize I have literally just scared a Candor speechless. A mix of satisfaction and regret passes through me, but I simply lower my weapon and resume walking while I respond.

"And to answer your question…you are far less likely to soil your pants and cry for your mother if you're prepared to defend yourself." The statement is a bit harsh, but it satisfies the surliness still doing its slow boil through me. I stop walking and turn towards the nearest target. "This is also information you may need later in stage one. So, watch me."

And they do. I can tell that even though I focus solely on the target while I show them how to shoot. Their attention is obvious in their silence, and in the way they stay almost completely still, only craning their necks as they shift their gazes between me and the target.

Once I release them to begin practicing themselves, I wander the room, looking over their efforts and giving tips here and there. Almost all of them are bad at first, but that's hardly a surprise. What _is_ unusual is that Edward hits the target on every shot and gets a bulls-eye with his third bullet.

Somehow, he must have found a way to try this before he arrived in Dauntless. I'm not sure how he managed that at Erudite, but it occurs to me that _he_ might be the one who's like Eric – sent here by Jeanine to help with the upcoming war. The thought sends a chill down my spine.

I turn away, forcing my eyes to scan the rest of the room. They end up on Tris, who is currently talking with Will, another Erudite transfer. Unlike Edward, though, he seems like a typical transfer, no more or less prepared for this faction than anyone else. It's reassuring to see that.

* * *

By the time we break for lunch, everyone has managed to hit the bulls-eye at least once, even Myra. But Tris is the one who catches my attention. Her eyes are lit with that same wild energy I saw after she landed in the net, and the expression reminds me of how powerful I felt the first time I fired a gun accurately.

For a moment, I smile a little at the memory, but then I force myself to move on. I can't let her distract me like this.

At lunch, I sit with Zeke and Shauna, as I usually do. It's a bit strange to see Uriah and Lynn and their friends at another table, instead of with their siblings, but I understand, of course. The initiates are supposed to stay somewhat isolated during training, even those whose families are right here.

Not for the first time, I wonder what initiation would have been like if I'd stayed in Abnegation. I would have been like Uriah, I suppose – seeing my father but not living with him or eating with him. It wouldn't have been enough distance.

"So, who's going to rank first?" Zeke asks me conspiratorially, and I roll my eyes. As if it's possible to pick a winner after a single morning session. But even as I think that, I realize I have a strong suspicion.

"Edward," I answer, looking to where he sits across the room, his lips brushing Myra's. "He's a little too good, frankly. Someone has trained him already."

Zeke follows my gaze, clearly unsure what I mean by that statement, but I suppose he's used to vague, paranoid statements coming from me, so he doesn't question it.

"What did Maria want last night?" Shauna asks, causing me to go rigid in response. I don't want to tell her that Eric will now be overseeing her sister's initiation. But I do, anyway. Realistically, it's at least partly my fault that this is happening, so the least I can do is take responsibility for describing it – as best I can without mentioning my suspicions about Uriah's Divergence or what I've learned about Erudite's war plans. I'm not dumb.

"Shit," she and Zeke say simultaneously when I finish. I just nod glumly, staring at the food left on my plate. Automatically, my eyes shift to Tris again, knowing that she's the one I've hurt the most through all this. She's in the middle of an animated discussion with her friends, and as I watch, I hear her loudly exclaim, "I am not _frigid_!" Despite everything, a smile curves my lips at the words. I'm not sure what to make of that statement.

* * *

The afternoon training session is strikingly similar to last year's, with one obvious difference: I'm presenting it instead of Amar. It's hard not to think of him as I explain the basics of fighting, demonstrating each punch and kick and giving the initiates time to practice. I even find myself using his words, and the longer the session lasts, the more his absence bothers me. His death still hurts.

I try to work past it, forcing myself to focus on the initiates and giving them the kind of tips Amar would have.

"Use your reach," I tell Christina. "Your arms and legs are longer than most people's, so you can kick or punch your opponent while you're still outside their striking range. And you're light enough to move well, so circle at the edge of your range, strike, and get back out again."

Will gets similar advice, but Al is more difficult. He's huge, which should be an advantage in fighting, but he's also slow and clumsy. Anyone with skill will be able to take him down as soon as they stop being intimidated by his size. I watch him for a while, trying to come up with suggestions to help him, but I can't make him smarter or more coordinated, and eventually I just tell him to work on speed, and I move on to the next person.

As with the guns earlier, I'm bothered by Edward's ability in this subject. He fights like he's been doing it for years, which shouldn't be the case for a transfer from Erudite. However, as I watch him attempt to help his girlfriend, Myra, my concern starts to ease. He doesn't act like someone who was sent here on an Erudite mission. He acts like someone who has always known he was Dauntless at heart and did his best to prepare for the day he could join his preferred faction. I won't hold that against him.

Still, he's already good enough to not need my help at this point, so I leave him alone. I do the same with Myra, since he's working with her. It's harder to figure out what to do with Peter. I shouldn't let my own biases control how much I help the initiates, but something about Peter really bothers me, and I don't like the idea of making him a better fighter. So, I watch him for a while and then just nod as if he doesn't need any advice, and I move on.

"Your best bet," I tell Molly, "is to get in close. You're solid, with plenty of muscle, so if you can wrestle your opponent to the floor, you've got them." She gives me a haughty smile, and I continue to Drew, giving him similar advice despite his shorter stature.

I watch Tris for a little while, assessing her strengths and weaknesses. She's very small – only half Al's size – and she's likely to have trouble hurting others, since she's from Abnegation. But there's a fierce determination in her that could make the difference in a fight. She just needs to use the right tools.

"You don't have much muscle," I tell her, "which means you're better off using your knees and elbows. You can put more power behind them."

Before I think about what I'm doing, I press my hand to her stomach, to the core muscles she needs to use while fighting. This room is one of the only places where I don't mind touching people – I can correct their stances and techniques without it bothering me the way the same touch would elsewhere. For that reason, I don't expect the reaction that goes through me as my palm makes contact with Tris' abdomen.

I feel the same strange electricity I felt this morning, when my fingers brushed her hand, and suddenly I'm very aware that my hand is on a girl's stomach. A girl from Abnegation. She stiffens, staring at me wide-eyed, and I freeze, not sure what to do. _Did she feel that too?_

It takes me a second to collect my wits, and then I say in my best attempt at a normal voice, "Never forget to keep tension here."

I lift my hand and move on, not waiting for her to respond. My palm is buzzing, and my head seems determined to keep up with it, and I don't know why I'm so confused. I was just helping her technique. Wasn't I?

I'm not so sure the answer is yes.

* * *

That night, I have one of the strangest dreams I've ever had. In it, I stayed in Abnegation, and I'm training the initiates there. One of them is Tris, who didn't transfer, either. We're volunteering side-by-side, but I keep slipping and ending up with my hand on her stomach.

Eventually, I start keeping it there as we walk around, as if that's somehow a normal thing to do. But then her father, Andrew, asks why I'm doing that, and when I try to explain, I come up blank.

"It's because I'm not _frigid_ , Dad," Tris says emphatically, and then we're surrounded by laughing Dauntless. Andrew and my father try to chase them away, calling them hooligans, but all the faces gradually morph into Eric, who smirks as he points at a printout of the Erudite war plans.

"Go ahead and have fun, Stiffs," he sneers at us. "You'll all be dead soon enough."

When I wake up, the dream lingers for a few minutes, gradually fading one emotion at a time until I'm left with just one. I wait for it to seep away, too, but it doesn't. No matter how uncomfortable it makes me, that one stays. _I liked the feeling of my hand on her._

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you haven't read it yet, please check out my alternate third book, "Determinant." It begins right after "Insurgent" and goes a very different path than "Allegiant." Please give it a try!
> 
> And please take a moment to write a review. Guests can review, so even if you don't have an account on this site, you can write a review, and those really, really help me to know what's working and what isn't in the story. They also motivate me to write and to post sooner. Thanks!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to those who have reviewed the story so far. I truly appreciate your support! Thank you also to my wonderful beta reader, Rosalie, who always catches my mistakes and gaps!

 

  
**"** **Divergent" Chapter 9 - Fighting**

Eric shows up as I finish writing pairs of names on the board for today's fights.

"Sparing the Stiff?" he asks with a smirk, clearly noticing that Tris won't be fighting today. I'm careful not to react visibly.

"It's traditional to go in size order when there's an odd number of initiates," I say calmly. "The smallest sits out the first day, the second smallest the next, and so on." I look at him like I'm confused he doesn't know this. "But if you want to break tradition, come up with a different order, and I'll rearrange the pairs."

He watches me for a moment, undoubtedly looking for a sign that I'm making this up and that Tris means something to me, but I stay expressionless, and eventually he crosses his arms and turns away. Tradition is a funny thing in Dauntless – people don't mess with it lightly.

It's just as well, since I don't know what to expect in today's fights. They were tough enough with Amar running them. With Eric here, things are likely to be brutal, and I don't want Tris suffering permanent injury because of him.

_No_ , I correct myself firmly, I don't want that for _any_ of the initiates. I have to stop thinking of her differently.

We wait in silence as they trickle in, arriving in the same groups as yesterday, though in a slightly different order. Tris and her friends are earlier today, and I stare fixedly at the center of the room to keep myself from looking at her for too long. She's wearing somewhat tighter clothes than yesterday, and no matter how much I tell myself it doesn't matter, the sight makes my heart beat a little faster.

Peter and his friends arrive just in time, and I begin as the door closes behind them.

"Since there are an odd number of you, one of you won't be fighting today," I announce, glancing at Tris as I step away from the board so everyone can see the pairs I designated. She looks relieved.

I motion Will and Al – the first pair – into the ring while the others break into their own conversations. The two fighters get into reasonable stances and face each other, moving around warily. Neither attacks. That's typical for the first fight, particularly between friends.

It takes a long time for one of them to strike, but finally Al punches Will in the jaw. Huh. I expected it to go the other way, with the Erudite figuring out he needed to act first.

Will stumbles to the side, looking a bit dazed by the blow, but he successfully blocks Al's next punch, so apparently the damage wasn't too bad. And he counters well, hooking a leg behind Al's and yanking so the larger initiate falls heavily to the floor. Not bad.

But he makes a mistake by giving Al time to get back on his feet. That will probably cost him the match. I fold my arms over my chest, watching as they resume circling each other. At this rate, the fight will take hours.

Eric obviously reaches the same conclusion, because he checks his watch and then yells, "Do you think this is a leisure activity? Should we break for nap-time? Fight each other!"

Al straightens, foolishly dropping his hands as he says, "But is it scored or something? When does the fight end?" _Shit._ He just had to ask that while Eric was here.

Eric's voice is deadly as he answers, "It ends when one of you is unable to continue."

I know it's stupid to interfere, but I do it anyway. I have to at least try, for the initiates' sake.

"According to Dauntless rules," I say, trying to invoke the same sense of tradition that convinced Eric fifteen minutes ago, "one of you could also concede."

I don't look at Eric, but he answers me anyway. "According to the _old_ rules," he snarls. "In the _new_ rules, no one concedes." So much for honoring tradition.

My eyes turn to Eric, my expression carefully neutral as I speak again. "A brave man acknowledges the strength of others."

He glares at me. "A brave man never surrenders."

At this point, I know the battle is lost, but I meet his gaze levelly anyway in a staring contest, hoping that somehow it will change who wins this argument.

Al interrupts us. "This is ridiculous," he exclaims. "What's the point of beating him up? We're in the same faction!"

That was the wrong thing to say, since they're not actually in this faction yet. But before Eric can respond, Will pipes up. "Oh, you think it's going to be that easy? Go on. Try to hit me, slowpoke."

Will raises his hands again, looking determined, and I'm a bit relieved. He deflected the brunt of Eric's anger before our staring contest was resolved – before Eric clearly won the argument, and before he had a chance to define "unable to continue." If no one pushes the issue today, I might be able to get away with calling fights before one opponent or the other is seriously hurt. _Maybe._

The current fight gets a bit more interesting after that exchange. Will is now following my advice from yesterday, using his superior speed to dance around Al and deliver quick strikes, while his larger opponent keeps trying to clobber him with slow, powerful blows that miss.

It lasts until Al catches ahold of Will's arm and uses it to keep him from escaping as he charges. This time, the punch lands, hitting hard into Will's jaw, and the smaller initiate collapses to the floor, clearly unconscious. I guess Eric got his way.

Al's eyes go wide, concern written all over his face as he crouches by his friend, trying to revive him. But Will doesn't move. I sigh, knowing he'll need to go to the infirmary, but I'm hesitant to step forward until Eric makes the call. I've already challenged him once this morning. If I do it again, he'll just take it out on the initiates.

Eric watches the limp form with savage pleasure for a long moment before finally saying, "Get him up." I turn away to hide my disgust, circling Al's name on the board as an excuse.

"Next up – Molly and Christina!" Eric shouts with the same vicious enjoyment, and I know I need to get out of here. I'm too close to boiling over, and that would only make Eric worse. The best way I can protect the initiates right now is to leave.

So, I cross the room to where Al is supporting Will, who seems to be regaining consciousness but is clearly very dazed. I wrap an arm around Will's waist, taking him from Al and leading him out the door toward the infirmary.

It's a long, slow walk, with Will blacking out several times along the way. When we eventually get there, I lay him on one of the beds as Helena, the nurse on duty, hurries over. She doesn't ask for an explanation – just starts checking his vital signs. She knows it's the first day of fighting.

"Expect a lot of this," I warn her with a sigh. "Eric has them fighting until they can't continue."

She stares at me for a half second before rolling her eyes. "Yeah, that's always a good idea," she mutters sarcastically, "because concussions are such a _joy_ to treat."

There's not much I can say to that, so I simply step out of the way and let her work. After a minute, she tells me, "You may as well go, Four. He'll be here for a while." I nod, my feet finding their way out the door.

I'm _very_ tempted to go shooting instead of returning to the fights. It would help me calm down, and I still suspect that my presence will just egg Eric on and make him worse. But I can't get myself to abandon the initiates, so I head back to the room anyway.

There's no one there.

For a moment, I'm just confused, and I walk into the hallway and look at the door, feeling the absurd need to make sure I have the right room. But of course I do, and it's not like they're supposed to be anywhere else. They should be fighting until they're all finished, or until lunch, whichever comes first, but it's much too early for either.

I walk to the dormitory anyway, not knowing where else to look. Maybe Eric got bored and left, and the initiates wandered off with no other guidance? But they're not there. And they're not in the other training room, either shooting or being shot.

I don't know what to think. Was one of them killed in an uncontrolled fight? No, there'd be a body, and blood, and initiates wandering around upset. The only logical explanation is that Eric took them all somewhere – to show them something, or to prove a point, or to punish them for some type of defiance.

The last thought sinks in. I can easily imagine Tris standing up to Eric. From what I've seen, she's brave enough to do it, and her Abnegation habits are undoubtedly still strong. If one of the others was in danger, and I wasn't there to intervene, who knows what she'd do – or what Eric would do in retaliation. Cold fear goes through me.

I head for the control room, knowing that Zeke is on duty and has probably already seen whatever's happening on the security cameras. He can direct me to the right place.

But I no sooner reach the Pit than I see the group heading back to the training room. Eric is leading them, a satisfied sneer on his face, while the initiates follow him. They look defeated – hunched and silent and scared. It's the way I always felt after my father beat me, and I know that Eric just abused them badly in some manner.

My hands tighten into fists as I first do a headcount to make sure they're all there – they are – and then look for _her_. My gut still says that she's the one he went after, but when I find her, I'm suddenly not so sure about that. Tris looks fine, walking beside Christina, who is book-ended on the other side by Al. Christina, on the other hand, is wet and shaky and looks extremely rattled. It's clear that whatever Eric did must have been to her….

I follow behind them, not saying anything. It's better not to speak until I know more about what happened, particularly since I'd probably just set Eric off again. But I watch them, taking in every aspect of their reactions to see how bad it was. Peter and Drew and Molly are clearly the least troubled of the group, but even they don't meet my eyes. The only one who does is Tris.

She looks up defiantly, refusing to be cowed the way the others are, and she meets my gaze with that fierce energy of hers. The intensity is startling, stronger than I've seen it before, and I'm more certain than ever that _this_ is how she responds to fear. It's fascinating, and for a long moment, I can't break away from her grayish-blue eyes. They wake up everything inside me. _They're beautiful._

The thought is totally inappropriate for the moment, and I shove it away automatically as I force my gaze away from hers. But I know what she was trying to tell me. _I shouldn't have left them alone with Eric._

Maybe she's right.

* * *

Zeke and Shauna are engaged in an angry discussion when I join them in the dining hall. They're keeping their voices low, but I can hear them swearing as I get close.

Zeke doesn't even let me sit before he snaps, "If he tries that shit on Uri, I'll kill him, you know." I've never seen my friend so furious.

"Or Lynn," Shauna adds, her tone just as vicious.

I nod, taking my seat beside Zeke. "What exactly did he do?"

"Made one of them hang from the chasm for five minutes," Zeke snarls, and I feel my insides tighten into a ball. "Right over it. If she'd slipped… _splat_." He makes a flattening gesture with his hands before laughing bitterly. "Actually, she did slip once, and he _still_ left her hanging there. By her fucking _fingertips_."

Suddenly, I feel too sick to eat.

Shauna looks ashen, too. "I suppose if she'd died," she says quietly, "then at least Eric would have been charged with murder, and he'd be out of here." I glare at her, appalled. Is she seriously suggesting that it would be okay for one of the initiates to _die_ to keep her sister safe from Eric?

Before I can respond, Zeke speaks up again. "I saved the footage from the control room." He looks at me almost pleadingly. "Maybe you can use it to get him kicked out."

I sigh. "It won't work," I tell him, "but I'll certainly try."

* * *

As soon as training has finished for the day, I head to Max's office, knowing he's my best chance at getting someone to rein Eric in. He's always liked me, after all, which is probably why Eric went to Maria instead of him in the first place. And it's possible that move pissed Max off.

He looks up from his desk when I knock, his expression thoroughly bored. But he perks up when he sees me; I suppose I'm a distraction from his usual routine.

"Come on in, Four," he says in a reasonably cheerful tone, and I enter, shutting the door behind me before taking the seat he waves me toward.

"Eric almost killed one of the initiates," I tell him point-blank. "He's a menace, and I want him out of my training room."

Max eyes me carefully, leaning back as he steeples his fingers in front of him. "He has Maria's permission to be there," he finally states coolly. The meaning is clear. Max doesn't like that decision, but he can't openly defy it, at least not without a _very_ good reason.

"So, tell me _exactly_ what he did," Max adds.

"He changed the rules," I begin, "so initiates can't concede anymore." Judging by Max's expression, that part doesn't bother him at all, so I continue. "And then when one of them was getting the crap beaten out of her and tried anyway, he forced her to hang over the chasm for five minutes as punishment."

That got his attention.

"Injured," I add. "And even when she slipped and was holding on with nothing but her fingertips, he made her keep going. He was practically begging for her to fall."

Max sighs heavily, looking away. "I can show you the footage," I tell him, and he nods slowly.

"All right," he mutters. "Let's see how bad it is."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please take a moment to write a review. Reviews really make my day, and they motivate me to keep writing and to post as frequently as possible. Thanks!


	8. Divergent Chapter 10 – Peter Versus Tris

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to those lovely people who reviewed the last chapter! I really, really appreciate the support. Thank you also to my wonderful beta reader, Rosalie, who always does such a good job with a super-fast turnaround time.

 

**"** **Divergent" Chapter 10 – Peter Versus Tris**

Eric is in the training room before me the next morning, and it's obvious from his sour expression that Max has already talked to him. I wish he'd agreed to do more, instead of making it clear that Eric is in charge as long as he doesn't kill anyone. But at least he said he'd draw the line on acceptable punishments.

Unfortunately, it quickly becomes clear that Eric has found a way to get his revenge. He's written today's pairs on the board, and he has Tris fighting Peter. A sick feeling washes through me. She's half his size, and there's no way she's developed enough skill to counter that yet.

For a moment, I just look at the board, trying to figure out how to approach this. In many ways, I know it's a mistake to say anything. I do. But I can't leave her to that fate without at least making an effort to change it.

"Peter versus Tris?" I ask mockingly, my voice implying that Eric is acting like an idiot. "Exactly how does that further either of their training?"

"We only want the best in Dauntless," Eric says, the vicious smile on his face showing how much he's enjoying this. "So the sooner we knock that scrawny little Stiff out of here, the better."

"That scrawny little Stiff," I respond as evenly as I can, "jumped first. So, clearly she has some potential. And the purpose of training is _supposed_ to be giving everyone a chance to–" But Eric cuts me off.

"The purpose of training is to give Dauntless the best new members it can! And we already have too many Stiffs around here as it is." His smirk makes it abundantly clear that this is all about me, not Tris.

At least that gives me an excuse…. I step closer to him, letting my anger show as I prepare for the fight he obviously wants. He may be a leader, but Dauntless never frowns on responding violently to an insult. I won't get in much trouble for this.

We're only a foot away from each other, our hands fisted and our muscles tensed, when the first initiates walk through the door. I almost groan in response. It would be a _very_ bad idea to let this go any further in front of the transfers. Besides, there's no way Eric will change the pairings now – not after people have already seen them. I've lost this battle.

I take a deep breath, shooting Eric one last look before turning away and walking to a spot near the wall. Maybe Peter will knock her out quickly, without causing too much harm. It's the best I can hope for.

* * *

The first fight is quick. Edward flattens Molly thoroughly, leaving her barely able to peel herself off the floor, dazed and unable to stand without help. Even Eric has to admit she can't continue, despite the fact that she's technically still conscious.

Really, though, I think he's just anxious to get to the main event. Tris and Peter are next.

Her face is determined as she enters the ring, and I know immediately that even if the rules allowed her to concede, she never would. She'll fight with everything in her, no matter how unlikely it is that she'll win. I have to admire that.

"You okay there, Stiff?" Peter taunts her, and I cross my arms over my chest to hide how my hands have balled into fists.

"You look like you're about to cry," he adds. "I might go easy on you if you cry."

Eric moves closer to me – probably so he can watch my reaction better – and he begins tapping his foot rapidly. I know he's trying to be as obnoxious as possible.

"Come on, Stiff," Peter continues, making me even angrier. "Just one little tear. Maybe some begging."

Tris is clearly furious, too, and she aims a kick at Peter's side. It's too slow, though, and he catches it, using it to yank her forward and then knock her onto her back. For a second, I allow myself to hope that the fight will be over that fast, but then she scrambles up again before he can follow her to the floor.

Eric snaps, "Stop playing with her. I don't have all day." And my hands clench so hard I'm probably digging cuts into my palms, despite how short my fingernails are. _Be quick. Please be quick._

But it's obvious that Peter enjoys torture as much as Eric does. He catches Tris in the jaw with a quick jab and then watches as she lurches to the side, moving as far away from him as she can. He smirks and then darts in front of her again, kicking her hard in the stomach. It's not good technique, but she doesn't have the experience to block it or get out of the way, and she falls hard, gasping for breath. As I did before, I mentally nudge Peter forward to finish this, but he waits, and Tris gets up again.

This time, he grabs her hair and punches her in the nose. It's a cruel move – one designed to inflict pain without much damage, to keep her awake while he continues his blows. It's the kind of thing my father did, and I do _not_ want to watch this happen to Tris.

She slaps at his arms, trying to push him away, and he responds by punching her viciously in the ribs before shoving her to the floor again. _Just pretend to pass out from the pain,_ I plead silently, but she won't. Instead, she coughs and drags herself sluggishly to her feet again. She can barely stand, let alone fight, and any decent human being would stop the fight at this point. Unfortunately, decent human beings aren't in charge right now.

Eric watches as if he can't get enough of the fight, as if it's food and he hasn't eaten in years. And Peter has almost the same look on his face. It's clear they both intend to draw this out as long as possible.

For a moment, I consider going after one or the other of them – delivering the same type of punishing blows to see how they enjoy it when _they're_ the ones receiving it. But Max's words ring through my head, and I know that would just get me kicked out of my position, and that certainly wouldn't help Tris, or Uriah, or any of the others.

Peter strikes her on the side of the head as she sways in front of him, but somehow she manages to stay on her feet. She even punches back, drawing strength from who knows where to land a blow against his stomach. But she's far too disoriented to make it work, even if she had enough muscle mass to do damage that way.

He barely groans before smacking her ear with the flat of his palm, laughing under his breath. And suddenly I can't watch this anymore. If _this_ is what Dauntless has become – watching a bully beat up someone far braver than himself – then maybe it's better if Tris becomes factionless. She deserves better than this place.

I shove the door open and walk out without a word. I don't even care how Eric interprets my exit.

But I don't go far. I remember Tris' eyes from yesterday, the accusation in them that I left the initiates alone with Eric, and I know I can't do that to her. So, I walk partway down the hallway, to an area the cameras don't monitor, and I crouch with my back against the wall. My breathing is heavy, and my heart is pounding, and I so badly want to punch something. _Hard._ This is tearing me apart, and I don't entirely know why.

Tris screams. The sounds rips through me, yanking me to my feet again before I even realize I've moved. She didn't scream at all with everything Peter did to her before. _What has he done to elicit that now?_

I march back into the room, my eyes taking in the sight of Tris on the floor with Peter over her, still hitting her. She's no longer moving to resist.

"Enough!" I shout, and Peter stops, reluctance clear in his expression. But I just turn to Eric. "If you kill one of them, you're out of here, remember?" I snarl at him.

He looks at me with some strange mixture of hatred and amusement, but he doesn't say anything. Instead, he simply turns to the board, moving to circle Peter's name, and I cross the room quickly to where Tris lies in a pool of blood on the floor.

My fingers tremble almost imperceptibly as I check her neck and back to make sure nothing's broken so badly that it wouldn't be safe to move her. Fortunately, she avoided that level of damage, and she's still breathing. It should be okay to carry her.

I glance at the other initiates, realizing that the only ones big enough are Al, who is fighting next, and Peter, who will never touch her again as far as I'm concerned.

"Clean up the blood so you don't slip on it," I warn Al as I gather Tris into my arms and head for the infirmary. I glare levelly at Eric as I pass him, badly wanting to wipe that smirk off his face.

I don't notice much of the walk. Tris feels so light in my arms, it's as if she's not really in her body anymore, and that scares me far more than I care to admit. After two years of being in this faction, I finally meet an interesting girl – one I could like if the circumstances were different – and Eric might have killed her. There are so many reasons for me to hate him, but this is the one I'll never forgive him for.

Helena is with another patient when I reach the infirmary, but I shout her name as I carry Tris toward her, and she looks up, startled. It only takes her a second to rush over, and then we're laying Tris on a bed and working together to staunch her bleeding while Helena checks for worse injuries.

I'm not sure how much time passes before we get Tris stable. The injuries were mostly on the surface, Helena reassures me, but all I can see is the blood. And the empty eyes as Helena checks them for signs of a concussion. I hadn't realized how much of Tris' presence is based on the life in her eyes, but she looks so small without that fierce energy.

Eventually, Helena returns to the other patient in the room, and I sit next to Tris, feeling exhausted by the last hour. It's still early in the day, but it feels like an eternity has passed since I woke up this morning.

I should go back to the training room, I realize slowly, but I don't want to. I don't want to have to look at Eric anymore, or Peter for that matter, and I don't particularly want to watch the other fights. Those pairings were far more even than Tris', anyway, so they'll take time, and after Eric's demonstration yesterday, no one will try anything too stupid. It should be safe to leave them for now, or as safe as possible with Eric involved.

And I don't want to leave Tris until I'm sure she's okay. Or at least until she's conscious.

I reach out and trace my fingers lightly over the injury at the corner of her mouth. The motion feels so natural, I don't quite realize I'm doing it at first. When I do, I freeze, my hand stopping an inch above her face.

_What the hell am I doing?_ She's an _initiate_ , and I'm her _instructor_. I have to get a handle on these feelings.

I pull my hand back, looking at Tris as I force myself to evaluate the situation. There's no point in telling myself I don't like her. Obviously, I do. But the question is how much – and what am I going to do about it? And does she feel the same way?

Maybe it doesn't even matter. Once initiation is finished, I plan to join the factionless. If Tris fails, I suppose there's a chance we could get together out there someday. But despite how badly Peter beat her, I just don't see her failing. She's too determined. Too Dauntless.

And I'm not. That's really what it comes down to. This faction is no longer my home, and I don't know if I could stay here just because I finally found someone I like.

But as I watch her, fighting the urge to brush my fingers along her face again, I have to admit I'd consider it.

* * *

By the time I return to the training room, Drew has beaten Al, and Will and Christina are just finishing their fight. I watch as he lands a good blow on her jaw, knocking her to the floor and leaving her only semi-conscious – definitely too dazed to continue. I call the fight, circling Will's name before Eric can say anything, and I realize that was the last match of the day.

Eric tells the initiates that we'll be going to the fence tomorrow for a field trip, and then he dismisses them for lunch. He's the first one out the door, looking back at me with a smirk that makes it clear he's leaving me to clean up the room by myself – simply because he _can_. But it doesn't matter. The Abnegation in me would rather clean this place alone than go eat with my friends at the moment.

So, I do, cleaning up the remainder of Tris' blood before straightening everything up and finally heading out. By the time I get to lunch, the dining hall is almost empty, and my friends have long since gone. That's okay. I'm not really in a conversational mood anyway.

I sit in the same seat I did when the initiates first got here, when I sat next to Tris, and I eat simple food – Abnegation food – as I let my thoughts drift again to my fellow Stiff. I don't come to any conclusions about what to do, except for one. No matter what does or doesn't happen, I have to make _very_ sure that Eric doesn't figure out how I feel about her.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please take a moment to review this chapter. Your reviews help me know what's working and what isn't, and they motivate me to keep writing.
> 
> Also, I could use some feedback on what to do for the knife-throwing scene, which is coming up soon. This fic is consistent with "Free Four: Tobias Tells the Divergent Knife-Throwing Scene," but that was written as a stand-alone story, so it doesn't entirely fit into the flow of the other chapters here. I could either write the chapter from Tobias' POV, knowing it will be similar to that short story, or write the scene from Al's POV. Please let me know which you prefer.
> 
> Thanks!


	9. Divergent Chapter 11 – The Fence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed the last chapter (and to the guest who let me know about a typo - I really appreciate that)! Thank you also to my wonderful beta reader, Rosalie!
> 
> By the way, so far, more people have voted for having the knife-throwing scene be in Tobias' POV, so I'll probably do that (unless there's an outpouring for Al's POV between now and when I write it). If I do that, maybe I'll write Al's POV as a stand-alone fic at some point.

  
**_"_ ** **Divergent" Chapter 11 – The Fence**

It looks like Eric is skipping the field trip. At least that's what I have to assume, since he still hasn't shown up, and I can now hear the horn of the approaching train.

I glance back, momentarily worried about leaving Tris in the compound with him, but to my relief, I see she's finally made it. Her movements are pained, and her face is badly bruised, but she's here. Once again, I have to give her credit for resiliency.

I turn back to the tracks, standing as close as possible – right on the line where I know I'm safe but where one inch closer would get me hurt. It's a technique I learned from Amar. It intimidates the initiates and makes me look more Dauntless without actually putting me in any danger.

Once it's time to board, I step back, planning to let the initiates climb on before me. That plan vanishes when Will steps up first, flopping inelegantly into the car on his stomach and dragging himself the rest of the way in. I sigh. That's not the example I want the others following, so I jump on myself, my motions smooth, giving them a better model to imitate.

Somehow, I'm not surprised when Tris follows right behind me, trying to be next despite her injuries. I'm about to extend a hand to help her in when Al lumbers up behind her, grabbing her under her arms and lifting her into the car. An odd feeling shoots through me at the sight, but I shake it off, watching as the others board one by one. No one is left behind.

The squabbling begins immediately.

"Feeling okay there?" Peter asks mockingly, "or are you a little… _Stiff_?" He's obviously talking to Tris, and I tighten my hand around the grab bar I'm next to, trying to hide my anger as he laughs. It's bad enough that he beat her – and enjoyed it – but does he have to be insulting about it too?

"We are all awed by your incredible wit," Will answers him.

"Yeah, are you sure you don't belong with the Erudite, Peter?" Christina asks. "I hear they don't object to sissies."

Part of me is glad that her friends are sticking up for her, but I really don't want more reminders of what happened yesterday. I'm sure Tris doesn't, either.

"Am I going to have to listen to your bickering all the way to the fence?" I ask caustically, letting my eyes roam over all of them. They instantly grow silent. Good.

Turning back to the car's opening, I grab the handle on either side and lean out as far as I can, enjoying the feeling of the wind whipping against me. I don't go for many of the typical Dauntless thrills, but I do enjoy this one.

We move gradually to the edges of the city, the buildings getting progressively more damaged as we go and then slowly petering out, replaced by yellow fields. I considered living out here, after I go factionless. It's far away from the Dauntless leaders, and from my parents. I figured I could find an old building and fix up an apartment in it, maybe even plant crops in one of the open fields….

But I opted for a spot closer to the factions. There's nowhere to plant crops there, but it's far easier to stay hidden, and that will be important once the war starts. I've already picked out an apartment and stocked it with supplies. I just have to get through training and make sure Uriah is safe. And Tris. I won't abandon her, either.

The train's brakes squeal as it begins to slow down. The fence is one of the few places it actually stops, which is useful for the car-full of injured initiates it's carrying. Behind me, I hear the conversations die out, and I glance back to make sure everyone is still awake and ready to get off. Tris' eyes meet mine briefly, before she looks away, a faint blush touching her cheeks. I don't know why.

The train is just pulling under the awning, still moving very slowly, when I jump off. It comes to a full stop as the others disembark, following me silently toward the fence. The chain-link structure is in good shape through this stretch, its barbed wire looking sharp and clear of debris. There are many areas where it's not as well maintained – where decades of grime now cover the barbs to the point they're no longer a danger to anyone.

But I never mention that. I'm more concerned about needing to escape the city someday than about who might invade from outside, so I'm just as glad to see vulnerable spots in the fence.

"Follow me," I tell the group, somewhat unnecessarily, as I lead them toward the enormous gate and the guards on duty on the other side of it. Well, duty may be too strong a word. Despite the guns in their hands, they're milling around casually as they always do. It's a dull job. I decide to emphasize that to the initiates.

"If you don't rank in the top five at the end of initiation, you will probably end up here," I tell them, stopping as I reach the gate. "Once you are a fence guard, there is some potential for advancement, but not much. You may be able to go on patrols beyond Amity's farms, but–"

Will interrupts me. He must be hanging out with the Candor transfers too much. "Patrols for what purpose?" he asks.

I shrug, thinking again about the war plans I discovered. There was no direct mention in them about activities beyond the fence, but it would be a good place to do things secretly. For all I know, they're building up supplies of weapons or serums, or building prisons to house those captured in the war. Or even stealing food and stock-piling it so the Abnegation are blamed for shortages.

But all I say is, "I suppose you'll discover that if you find yourself among them. As I was saying. For the most part, those who guard the fence when they are young continue to guard the fence. If it comforts you, some of them insist that it isn't as bad as it seems."

Christina whispers to Tris in a voice that is too loud to be a whisper. The Candor can never be quiet. "Yeah. At least we won't be driving buses or cleaning up other people's messes like the factionless."

An expression of distaste passes over Peter's face, quickly hidden, before he asks me bluntly, "What rank were you?"

I watch him levelly for a moment, wondering why he's asking. But there's no reason to hide the answer. "I was first."

His eyes widen, and he asks somewhat contemptuously, "And you chose to do _this_? Why didn't you get a government job?"

For a few seconds, I seriously debate punching him. A single good jab to the nose would teach him to be less cocky and insulting. But even the thought makes me feel like my father, so I just answer the question.

"I didn't want one." My tone is flat, making it clear the topic is closed, and I turn back to the gate as some of the soldiers start to pull it open. I didn't notice earlier, but I can now see that there's a truck waiting to leave the city. Judging by the smiling faces and red and yellow clothes filling it, it's returning to Amity after delivering supplies to another faction. Probably Abnegation. I unloaded many trucks like this one while I was growing up there.

Instinctively, I move a bit away from the truck. I know I don't look anything like I did as a child, but I still don't want someone to recognize me from one of those unloading efforts.

But I'm not the one who's recognized.

"Beatrice?" a boy asks as he stands up in the back of the truck and then hops to the ground. He has curly blond hair and a slim build, and his movements are too…stiff…for Amity. But the dead give-away is that he's wearing a gray tee-shirt. He must have transferred from Abnegation.

My eyes turn to Tris curiously as he moves toward her, wondering what role they were to each other. Neighbors? Friends? Co-volunteers? Her face looks frozen, as if she has no idea how to respond, and I'm still trying to guess when he wraps his arms around her, hugging her in a way Abnegation never allows. The sensation I felt earlier, when Al lifted Tris onto the train, returns – far stronger this time, and I feel my hands forming tight fists. _I don't like this._ It takes me a second to realize that _this_ is having someone else touch her.

But Tris stands rigidly still, and it quickly becomes obvious that she doesn't return whatever affection this boy might feel for her. Nevertheless, she doesn't pull away, whether out of selflessness or kindness I'm not sure, and I begin to suspect why. The other Amity are smiling at the embrace, and I realize that doing this is helping the boy fit into his new faction.

Unfortunately, it's not helping Tris. Her fellow initiates are staring at her, and I'm about to intervene when he finally pulls away. The two of them begin talking as the Dauntless guards start to examine the truck. It's a pointless task, really – it's not as if there's anything the Amity aren't allowed to take out of the city – but it's part of the job anyway.

I move a bit farther away, not really wanting to hear Tris' conversation with this boy – or be within his sight. He's another person who could conceivably recognize me.

"Sure, come all the way out here and don't even bother saying hi," a voice beside me says, and I almost jump. It's Shauna, of course, and she's right that I should have noticed her earlier. I know perfectly well she's stationed here these days.

"Sorry – got distracted by the truck," I mutter.

She smirks, her eyes following the path mine were trained on a moment ago. "The truck or the people?" she asks. I look away, not wanting to answer, and I find my gaze once again on Tris. Molly is talking to her and the Amity boy now, her face wearing a sneer of obvious disgust.

"If they're bothering you that much," Shauna says with a trace of amusement, "go tell them to stop talking."

"They're not actually breaking any rules," I say, though I know that doesn't explain why their conversation annoys me.

"That's the first jumper, right?" Shauna asks after another moment of silence. "The Stiff?" I just nod, still watching Tris.

"You seem unduly fascinated by her," Shauna adds, and my eyes snap to her in horror. _Is it that obvious?_

"She worries me," I finally say, my mind wildly seizing at excuses. "Eric seems determined to kill her or make her fail, and she deserves better."

For a few long seconds, Shauna meets my gaze levelly. _She suspects._ I know she does. But she has the grace not to say anything.

"He made her fight Peter yesterday," I add, pointing out who Peter is. "That's why she's so bruised. And I hate it, because she's as Dauntless as they come, but at this rate, she'll fail stage one."

I kick the ground, watching the pebbles I send flying, before I continue. "Amar would never have let this happen, but Eric seems to think that only large brutes should make it through initiation. And I don't know how to stop him."

Shauna frowns, looking at Tris thoughtfully. "Come up with something," she states flatly. She meets my gaze again. "Like you did with me. Find a way to help her – and to keep Eric from winning."

I look at her, suddenly aware of just how short she is. She's probably only an inch or two taller than Tris, and she was bad at fighting during her own initiation, despite being raised in Dauntless. She certainly understands Tris' position.

"Okay," I answer with a slight smile. I don't know how I'll do this, but she's right that it's my job. I'll just have to figure it out.

* * *

When the truck finally drives through the gate, I say bye to Shauna and head toward the others. By now, Molly has moved away from Tris, who is watching as the guards close the gate. She's biting her lip thoughtfully, and I can't help but wonder what's going through her head. Whatever it is, it's probably not helpful for initiation.

My feet make their way to her before I can think better of it. "I am worried that you have a knack for making unwise decisions," I tell her. It sounds a bit lame, but she needs to understand that image matters to the Dauntless. She can't appear attached to her old faction or friends.

She frowns, crossing her arms over her chest defiantly. God, she just never backs down, does she?

"It was a two-minute conversation," she says firmly.

"I don't think a smaller time frame makes it any less unwise," I respond just as firmly. But as she continues to glare at me, my attitude starts to shift a little – or perhaps my attention does. Either way, I'm suddenly aware that we're only a foot apart. The closeness sends a type of buzzing through me.

Before I realize what I'm doing, I'm touching the corner of her bruised eye the way I lightly traced the injury on her mouth in the infirmary. She jerks her head back, and I freeze. _I can't let myself do this._ But I also can't admit to why I'm doing it.

So, I sigh, tilting my head to evaluate her as I think about what to say. "You know," I finally start, "if you could just learn to attack first, you might do better."

"Attack first?" she asks, sounding confused. "How will that help?" She still doesn't really know the basics of fighting.

"You're fast," I tell her. "If you can get a few good hits in before they know what's going on, you could win." I shrug as I finally let my hand drop.

"I'm surprised you know that," she responds quietly, "since you left halfway through my one and only fight."

The words slice a little, increasing the guilt I already feel about everything Eric is doing to her. She believes I left her at his mercy, the way I left them all the previous day.

"It wasn't something I wanted to watch," I say softly.

I look away, not wanting to see the accusation in her eyes, and I realize the next train has arrived. Good. This conversation is getting very uncomfortable.

I clear my throat. "Looks like the next train is here," I mutter. "Time to go, Tris."

* * *

The initiates have the rest of the day off, so when we get back to the compound, I visit Zeke in the control room. It's a good place to think, and even though I don't want to tell Zeke any of the things that are currently bothering me, he's still a good person to talk to.

"So, where was Eric today?" I ask without preamble as I enter the room. There's no doubt Zeke has been keeping an eye on him.

"Hi, Zeke. How are you?" Zeke says in an exaggerated tone, emphasizing my lack of a greeting before he answers his own question in the same tone. "I'm great. Thanks for asking. How are you, Four?"

I can't stop the smile that creeps onto my face. I suppose that's why he's my best friend.

"Yeah, yeah, I get it," I mutter. "Did you have a good day, Zekey?"

He laughs. "Zekey? Really? You know perfectly well my nickname is Ladies' Man."

"Hmm, yes, how could I forget? It's printed on all your shirts."

"The whole point of a nickname like that is not wearing shirts," he responds as if it's the most obvious thing in the world, and I chuckle.

"Okay, but really, where was Eric?"

"Well, I have good news on that front," he answers with a smirk. "He spent all day in a leaders' conference, and apparently it continues through tomorrow. So, you get two days without him."

His smile widens, and I can tell he's delighted to be delivering this information. But I can't help worrying about the purpose of the conference. It probably indicates the war is getting closer, and I still haven't figured out what to do about it. How to warn Abnegation in a way that will make them actually do something…. As if they have the skills or the resources – or even the desire – to protect themselves.

But there's nothing I can do about that right now, so instead I spend the next few hours thinking about how to help Tris. I finally come up with an idea shortly before I go to bed. The details swarm my dreams all night, but despite them, I sleep better than I have since initiation began. I'm kind of looking forward to tomorrow.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know what you thought of this chapter. Reviews really make my day, and they help me improve my writing. They're also the best motivation to keep going... Thanks!
> 
> By the way, the next chapter will be an original scene that takes place on a day which "Divergent" essentially skips over. It's a scene that I felt was missing and that doesn't contradict anything in the book. Hopefully, you'll like it.


	10. Original Chapter - Four Fights

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who reviewed the last chapter! I really appreciate the support. Thank you also to my wonderful beta reader, Rosalie!
> 
> This chapter is not in the book, but I felt that something like this was needed, and it doesn't seem to contradict anything in the book, so I decided to add it. I hope you like it!

  
**Between "Divergent" Chapters 11 and 12 – Four Fights**

The fights are far more enjoyable without Eric here. I pair the initiates as evenly as I can and watch their techniques closely to see what they need to improve. For the most part, they're making progress, though it's disappointing when Al throws his fight, pretending to be knocked unconscious after Edward's first hit. It's obvious that it really shook him to hurt Will the other day, but if he continues like this, he'll be factionless at the end of stage one.

Christina and Drew take a while to settle their match, mostly because neither is using their personal strengths well. They could both do much better, but eventually Christina's greater speed exhausts Drew, and when her quick jab causes him to fall, panting and struggling to rise, I call the fight before he ends up with a serious injury.

Tris obviously listened to me yesterday, because she moves in quickly on Myra, getting a good hit in before her opponent has a chance to react. Myra is too dizzy to continue, and I end up calling the fight less than two minutes after it started.

Peter and Molly take longer, circling each other warily in between powerful punches and outright wrestling matches. Eventually, Peter wins, but it's an ugly bout.

Normally, I would dismiss the initiates at the end of that round, but instead I gather them for the announcement I decided on last night.

"You have a choice this afternoon," I tell them. "You can have free time, or you can come back here and fight me." Eyebrows shoot up in surprise, but I ignore them as I continue. "This is an optional activity, so it will not affect your ranking in any way, but it is a chance to fight a real Dauntless member instead of a fellow initiate."

"Why would we want to do that?" Peter asks brashly, and I smirk at him, just a little. This is where I need to play things right, so Eric and Max won't flip out if they find out about this, and so only the people I want actually show up….

"Some of you seem to be finding it difficult to hit each other," I say as I let my eyes wander to Al, who avoids my gaze. "But I doubt you'll have that problem with _me_. It is also an opportunity to get feedback as you fight. I will _not_ take it easy on you, so if you come here, expect to get hurt. Nevertheless, I will tell you what you're doing wrong so you can improve."

Turning back to Peter, I add scornfully, "If you think you already fight well enough, and you're afraid of what I'll do to you, then by all means, stay away." I know full well that he will. He's Candor enough to have figured out I don't like him, and he won't want to face whatever injury I might inflict.

As he looks away, I glance over the others again, letting my eyes rest on Tris' for a long moment. "But if you're up for a true Dauntless challenge, I'll see you after lunch."

* * *

Four of them show up: Tris, Edward, Will, and Christina. The number seems appropriate. Four against Four….

"Edward, you're first," I say, entering the ring and turning to face him. He immediately joins me, grinning as he gets into a fighting stance. It's no surprise he's cocky – he hasn't lost a fight yet.

"You're angled wrong," I comment as I deliver a front kick to his thigh. He tries to block but is a fraction of a second too late, and my foot makes enough contact for him to wince.

"Your stance itself is fine," I add. "You're nice and balanced. But look at how squared your shoulders are to me. It opens your whole front to my attacks." I demonstrate by punching him in the solar plexus. It's just a quick jab, but it makes him wheeze for air, proving my point well.

"If you rotate slightly," I continue while he tries to catch his breath, "so your dominant shoulder is facing more toward me, I can't reach much of you at all, but you can still move and attack just about as easily."

He adjusts his position, following my instructions, and I repeat the same punch, showing that now it just hits his elbow. "See?" I ask, watching as he nods in response.

We fight for close to five minutes after that, pausing regularly for me to point out issues and for him to correct them. By the time we're done, he's sweating heavily and is favoring one leg, but he has the wild, excited look I see so often in this faction. He'll do well here.

"That's enough for today," I finally tell him. "Go ice your leg so you don't have trouble tomorrow." He nods, grinning like a maniac as he leaves.

"Will, you're next," I say without taking any kind of break. He looks considerably more nervous than Edward did, but he steps forward anyway and gets into a much better stance than he's been using. Obviously, he learned a lot from the last five minutes.

"Your biggest problem," I comment as I kick him on his lower leg, "is that your hands follow your eyes." Sure enough, he looks down at where I hit his leg, and in the process he drops his hands so they're no longer protecting his head. I punch him in the face, but lightly – just enough to prove my point.

He backs away, holding his nose, but he nods to show he understands what he did wrong. As soon as he's back in his stance, I repeat the sequence, and even though he's expecting it this time, both blows still land. He gives a wry smile, shaking his head. "It's just so instinctive," he complains.

"Then we'll keep doing this," I answer unsympathetically, repeating the sequence again. It takes another two passes through it before he manages to keep one hand up while using the other to block my kicks.

We continue for close to ten minutes after that, though at a much slower pace than when I was fighting Edward. When it's clear he's about to drop from exhaustion, I dismiss him for the day. He hesitates, glancing at Christina and Tris as if he's not sure he should leave them, but then he heads out.

This time, I break briefly for water before motioning Christina into the ring. She looks even more nervous than Will. I suppose that's not surprising after the way I intimidated her on the first day.

"You have good reach," I tell her, "and you're fast, but you need to learn to use your opponent's body mass against them." To demonstrate, I charge at her, punching twice in rapid succession. She back-peddles to try to get out of the way, managing to avoid the first blow but getting smacked by the second.

"When someone heavier than you is charging, don't move backwards," I say as we both resume our starting positions. "You'll just get trampled. Instead, step to the side and let them pass by, and then use their own momentum against them."

She frowns, hesitating briefly before apparently deciding to be bold. "Can you demonstrate?"

I shrug. "Okay. Come at me the way I just attacked you." She does, and I step quickly to the side, blocking on the outside of her punching arm and then pushing in the center of her back as she passes me. She ends up on the floor, but I can see her nodding as she understands what I just did.

Ultimately, Christina fights almost as long as Will did before I send her out too. I chug some more water as she crosses the room, watching as she closes the door behind her. Finally, it's just me and the person this day is about.

But as I turn to face Tris, she immediately comes at me with a quick elbow strike to the ribs. I step to the side, trying to block, but she's too close, and her blow grazes my side before I can get out of the way. Good for her.

She returns to the other side of the circle, facing me in a perfect stance, though her expression makes it clear she thinks she's in trouble now.

"You did tell me to attack first," she says defensively, "before my opponent knows what's going on."

"Yes, I did," I respond, not quite able to stop a grin from leaking through. "But you should have kept going while you had the advantage." She cocks her head curiously, and I explain, "With your size, you're better off up close the way you were."

"See," I continue, "when you're all the way over there, you can't reach me at all, and it will take you at least two steps to get close enough to attack. I, on the other hand, can reach you in one." In demonstration, I spring forward, stopping practically on top of her. I don't hit her, even though I probably should to press the point. Instead, I stand less than an inch from her, towering over her and making it obvious how easily I _could have_ hurt her.

The move is intended to be intimidating, but the longer I stand there, the more I think it's affecting me instead of her. There's an odd nervous energy going through me, and I'm very aware of just how close our bodies are. And I can _smell_ her. She should stink of sweat like the rest of the room, but she doesn't. Instead, she somehow smells good – really good. It draws some primal response from deep inside me.

I clear my throat, forcing myself to focus. "So, obviously it's easier for me to attack from a distance than it is for you. But it's easier for you when we're close like this." I don't move away. "Try to knee my thigh, and you'll see what I mean."

She nods, following my instructions without hesitation, and I wince. She's stronger than she looks.

"Okay, now see what happens when I try to do the same thing." She begins moving backwards instinctively, but I grab her arm, holding her firmly in place as I lift my leg. It's too long to navigate in the tight space, and it bumps uselessly against her.

She looks up at me, clearly getting my point, and I smile as I say, "When you're close, my longer limbs work against me, while your shorter ones work better. So, you can elbow my ribs, or stomp on my foot, or kick my calf, or use your knee like you just did, or even pinch really hard." I reach down, demonstrating a pinch to the side, and she jerks at the pain. "All of those hurt, and if you keep going with one after another, your opponent will be off-balance and trying to get away, and you'll be able to take him down."

She grins, and I finally get myself to move away from her a bit. "All right," I say, "let's try a few things, and I want you to work on getting close each time. We'll start with the technique I showed Christina, but I want you to step only as far to the side as you need – no farther – and then elbow me in the ribs as I pass by."

* * *

In total, I spend close to an hour with Tris, and it's thoroughly enjoyable. By the time we're done, I feel much better about her ability to handle a larger opponent, and about her fighting skills in general. She still doesn't stand a chance against Edward or Peter, but the odds are no longer so bad with the others. As I clean up the room afterwards, I allow myself to hope it will be enough to get her through stage one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please take a moment to let me know what you thought of this chapter. Also, I've starting writing the first "Determinant" one-off story I promised, and I'm debating how much to focus on that story versus this one. If you have an opinion one way or the other on that, please let me know. And thanks again for all your support! Your reviews, favorites, and follows mean a great deal to me.


	11. Divergent Chapter 12 – Capture the Flag

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed the last chapter! I really appreciate the support. Thank you also to my wonderful beta reader, Rosalie!

**"** **Divergent" Chapter 12 – Capture the Flag**

I manage to catch a nap after dinner, in preparation for our capture the flag game tonight. I only sleep for a couple of hours, with just one dream, but that one is filled with Tris. We start out fighting as we did today, but gradually our activity morphs into something else, something unfamiliar. Something I certainly wouldn't mind turning real.

When I wake up, I'm sweaty and sticky, and I take the time for a quick shower before heading to the transfers' dormitory.

Eric is already waiting outside the door, but the others haven't arrived yet. I stand against the opposite wall, ignoring Eric the same way he ignores me. We don't wait long.

As soon as the rest of the group comes, we turn our flashlights on and invade the room, shining our lights around from bed to bed.

"Everybody up!" Eric shouts, holding his flashlight behind his head to illuminate it in silhouette. I grudgingly have to admit it's a great effect.

I scan the room automatically, stopping when I see Tris sitting up in her bed. My dream returns vividly, and I suddenly can't look away, everything in me caught by her fierce blue eyes. She stares back just as intently as I'm watching her, and I'm pretty sure that time stops completely as our gazes stay locked.

"Did you go deaf, Stiff?" Eric demands loudly, and we both jump a little, our eyes finally separating. I turn away, heading toward the door to give the initiates time to get up. Behind me, I hear Eric saying, "You have five minutes to get dressed and meet us by the tracks. We're going on another field trip." Trust Eric not to tell them anything more than that.

* * *

The Dauntless-born reach the tracks first, shouting and jostling each other in excitement as they gather their paintball guns and ammunition. They've all heard of this tradition and have been anxiously awaiting their chance to participate in it. I watch Uriah and Lynn, trying not to grin at their enthusiasm, but I don't succeed very well. It's too contagious.

The transfers aren't far behind, though they're certainly much more nervous.

"Are we going to _shoot_ something?" Christina asks Tris in a horrified tone, in that same too-loud whisper she always uses. But Tris just laughs as her eyes take in the paintball equipment. She's already figured it out.

"Everyone grab a gun!" Eric shouts to the ones who just arrived. As they rush to the table, he addresses me. "Time estimate?"

I resist the urge to roll my eyes while I check my watch. "Any minute now. How long is it going to take you to memorize the train schedule?" He's from Erudite, after all – surely, he can learn something that simple.

"Why should I," he retorts, shoving my shoulder, "when I have you to remind me of it?" I don't bother to answer, since at that moment the train comes into view. Instead, I simply grab ahold as it passes by, climbing in easily.

As she did the other day, Tris immediately heads after me, running fast next to the train. This time, Al is too far behind to help her, and I feel an odd sense of satisfaction at the thought. I hold my hand out, and Tris grabs it firmly, and I swing her easily into the car. She's light enough that it takes almost no effort.

She lets go quickly, leaving my hand tingling a little as she moves to the other side of the car. But I don't watch her go because now the others are boarding, and soon everyone is packed into the car.

"We'll be dividing into two teams," I tell them once they're all here, "to play capture the flag. Each team will have an even mix of members, Dauntless-born initiates, and transfers. One team will get off first and find a place to hide their flag. Then the second team will get off and do the same."

The train goes around a curve, swaying alarmingly, and I grab the side of the doorway for balance as I continue. "This is a Dauntless tradition, so I suggest you take it seriously."

"What do we get if we win?" Molly shouts, and I raise an eyebrow at her.

"Sounds like the kind of question someone not from Dauntless would ask," I tell her coldly. "You get to win, of course."

Eric finally speaks up. "Four and I will be your team captains." Looking at me, he adds, "Let's divide up transfers first, shall we?"

I debate quickly. There are an odd number of transfers, so whoever picks second among them will pick first among the Dauntless-born, and I want Uriah on my team. Or more accurately, I don't want him on Eric's team. But if I let Eric pick first among the transfers, who will I lose?

Edward. There's no question that Eric will pick him first, and he's genuinely good. I'll be sorry not to have him on my team. But I'd rather have Uriah.

"You go first," I tell Eric.

He shrugs. "Edward." Pegged that one….

My eyes roam the other transfers. I already know who I want, but the question is in what order to pick them to make sure Eric doesn't get any of them first. But as I look over them, I'm caught by the expression on Tris' face. It's obvious she expects to be picked last, and for some reason that bothers me. She's my first choice – tough and brave and smart. Maybe she should know that.

"I want the Stiff," I state, knowing it's true in more ways than one.

A number of people laugh, and Tris' face begins turning red.

"Got something to prove?" Eric asks, smirking. "Or are you just picking the weak ones so that if you lose, you'll have someone to blame it on?"

Something like that," I answer with a calm shrug. Eric looks uncertain, and Tris looks angry, but I just add, "Your turn." They'll find out my strategy soon enough.

"Peter," Eric picks immediately. No surprise there.

I debate briefly between Will and Christina before choosing her. She's another one I don't want on Eric's team, not after he made her hang from the chasm. Besides, she and Tris work well together.

To my relief, Eric picks Molly next, giving me the chance to get Will after all.

"Al," he selects next. That surprises me. Maybe he hasn't realized yet that Al is throwing his fights. Or maybe he just assumes that body mass automatically makes someone more Dauntless. But it's fine with me. I wasn't planning to choose him anyway.

"Drew," I say, not particularly liking him but figuring he's more useful than Myra.

"Last one left is Myra," Eric comments. "So she's with me. Dauntless-born initiates next."

"Uriah," I say immediately, catching his gaze and watching as he grins happily.

Eric gives me a dirty look, probably realizing now why I let him pick first among the transfers. Too bad. But he gets a kind of revenge when he chooses Lynn. I'll hear about that from Shauna, I'm sure.

"Marlene," I select, as the last of the initiates I know.

From there, I end up picking by body type, since I prefer fast runners, and by how alert they look. Eric, not surprisingly, goes for the biggest people. Let him have them. This is a game of speed and brains, not strength. Tris apparently gets that, because she's trying to hide a smile as she compares the teams. It doesn't surprise me that she's smarter than Eric, despite his Erudite roots.

"Your team can get off second," Eric tells me.

"Don't do me any favors," I answer, unable to resist smiling a little. "You know I don't need them to win." He should certainly know that by now, after the last two years. I've won every time I've played this game.

"No," he replies, trying to save face, "I know that you'll lose no matter when you get off." But it's obvious he's not at all sure of that, because he's biting one of the many piercings in his lip. Finally, he gives up on his image and huffs, "Take your scrawny team and get off first, then."

I don't bother to answer. My response will be winning the game. So, I simply gesture to my team and turn to the door, jumping out into the night. The others follow me quickly, and I watch as they hit the ground. Tris lands on her feet and runs forward several steps, staying upright. Even in the darkness, I can see the enormous grin that crosses her face, and I fight not to let an answering one form on my own lips. I remember the first time I landed well, and how it made me feel….

Someone touches my shoulder, and I jerk around, startled. Marlene is standing there. "When your team won, where did you put the flag?" she asks me. The question annoys me, as does the way she touched me – it's too familiar for someone I don't know well.

"Telling you wouldn't really be in the spirit of the exercise, Marlene."

"Come on, Four," she whines, giving me that false, flirtatious look I see so often in my faction. It annoys me even more. She can't possibly think I'm dumb enough to fall for that – as if I'd believe she's interested in me just because she touched me. As if I'd be interested in her. I brush her hand off my arm.

"Navy Pier," Uriah answers her. "My brother was on the winning team. They kept the flag at the carousel." I suppress a sigh. I wanted this year's team to form its own strategy, but that won't happen now.

As if to reiterate the point, Will says, "Let's go there, then." I could overrule them, I suppose, but I still want them to do this as much on their own as possible, and disagreeing with their first decision doesn't seem like an effective way to accomplish that. So, I follow silently as they make their way there.

Christina's voice drifts through the night air. "We're close to Erudite headquarters, right?"

"Yeah," Will answers. "It's south of here." The thought sends a slight shudder through me. It's a reminder of the upcoming war, but I try to brush that worry away as we walk across the bridge and into the more damaged area beyond it. This part of the city is not maintained, and you can sense that in everything about it. Even the smell indicates decay and neglect.

Marlene turns her flashlight on, shining it on the ground in front of her, presumably making sure the path is clear. I don't have any objection, but Uriah takes the opportunity to tease her.

"Scared of the dark, Mar?" he asks.

"If you want to step on broken glass, Uriah, be my guest," she retorts, but she loses her point when she turns off the flashlight. Typical Dauntless – more concerned about image than sticking to your guns when you have a valid argument.

As we walk on in the darkness, the old amusement park begins to shape itself out of the air. I hear several of the initiates gasp as the Ferris wheel first becomes visible, looming high over us even at this distance.

"Think about it," Will says. "People used to ride that thing. For _fun_." I agree with his disgust. I can't imagine that being enjoyable, but of course that's because I'm afraid of heights.

"They must have been Dauntless," Tris points out.

Christina laughs. "Yeah, but a lame version of Dauntless. A Dauntless Ferris wheel wouldn't have cars. You would just hang on tight with your hands, and good luck to you." I have to stifle a laugh in response to that. The loud-mouthed Candor has a sense of humor after all.

We continue down the pier, passing the empty buildings with their ghost-like presence. So much of the city is still abandoned, but sometimes I feel it more than others.

"Dare you to jump into the marsh," Christina says to someone.

"You first," Will responds. There's something vaguely flirtatious about their banter, and while I'm a bit embarrassed to admit it to myself, I'm glad to see it. Will watches Christina and Tris a lot, and out of the two, I'd certainly prefer if he makes a play for Christina.

The group falls silent as we finally reach the carousel. I stand in front of the time-worn horses while I remove the flag from my pocket.

"In ten minutes," I tell them, "the other team will pick their location. I suggest you take this time to formulate a strategy. We may not be Erudite, but mental preparedness is one aspect of your Dauntless training. Arguably, it is the most important aspect."

Will takes the flag from my hand, looking at it and then addressing the group. "Some people should stay here and guard, and some people should go out and scout the other team's location." It's a standard strategy – not bad, but not unusually good, either.

"Yeah? You think?" Marlene asks challengingly as she grabs the flag from him. "Who put you in charge, transfer?" The words surprise me coming from her. She's usually very friendly – sometimes too much so, the same way Uriah is. It's occasionally occurred to me that she could be Divergent.

"No one," Will answers her somewhat fiercely. "But someone's got to do it."

"Maybe we should develop a more defensive strategy," Christina suggests. "Wait for them to come to us, then take them out."

"That's the sissy way out," Uriah complains. "I vote we go all out. Hide the flag well enough that they can't find it."

With that comment, the group bursts into loud debate. It will take them a while to iron out who's in charge and decide on a plan, and I don't want to be tempted to interfere. So, I back away, sitting on the edge of the carousel and leaning against one of the plastic horses with my hands behind my head. The voices drone on, but I just watch the sky, seeing clouds pass lazily in front of the moon, blocking and allowing light through as they go.

After a little while, I notice something missing from among the voices, and I lean forward to look. Tris isn't with the others. I assumed she would contribute to the strategy, but instead she's disappeared.

My eyes scan the area, searching for her. She must have a reason for wandering off. I finally spot her approaching the Ferris wheel, and I immediately head after her. _What is she doing?_

As I watch, she reaches up, pulling herself onto what I quickly realize is a ladder. It must run up the side of a support beam.

"Tris," I call. She doesn't jump or act startled. Instead, she simply looks over her shoulder at me, the moon lighting her calm expression.

"Yes?" she asks, as if she's in the most normal position in the world.

"I came to find out what you think you're doing," I state, not sure what to make of her nonchalance.

"I'm seeking higher ground," she continues in the same level voice. "I don't _think_ I'm doing anything."

The comment draws a smile out of me. The others are all back there arguing uselessly, and she's here exercising an innovative idea without even bothering to ask permission. It's Dauntless and Erudite all at once, and I have to admit I like it. A lot.

"All right," I tell her. "I'm coming."

She hesitates, evaluating me before saying, "I'll be fine." For a second, the comment floors me. On top of the initiative she's showing, she's acting like she's the one in charge. I truly don't know what to make of that.

"Undoubtedly," I simply answer. But of course I'm going with her. Even if I wasn't inclined to before, I certainly am now. She's too intriguing not to follow.

She begins climbing, and I'm right behind her, my hands moving to each rung the moment her feet leave it. The instructor inside me is complaining that this is a foolish risk, and the part of me that is afraid of heights certainly agrees, but somehow Tris overrides all that, and I keep moving without complaint.

"So tell me," I ask her after a little while, "what do you think the purpose of this exercise is?" I'm not sure if I'm trying to distract myself from the height or to remember that I'm supposed to be her instructor. "The game, I mean, not the climbing."

She looks down at the ground. That's usually a terrible idea from this far up, but she shows no sign of fear at all. I can't imagine being so calm up here – I'm certainly not.

"Learning about strategy," she responds as she resumes climbing. "Teamwork, maybe."

"Teamwork," I repeat, intending to ask her to elaborate, but a trace of panic finds its way into my voice, and I end up laughing a little to cover it.

"Maybe not," she says. "Teamwork doesn't seem to be a Dauntless priority." It bothers me how matter-of-factly she says that. It sums up everything that's wrong with my faction these days.

"It's suppose to be a priority," I say almost defensively. "It used to be."

She pauses, giving me an odd look and almost missing a rung on the ladder before she pulls herself together. I guess my answer must have shocked her. But apparently not too badly, because she starts climbing again.

"Now tell me," I make myself continue even though my throat is trying to close up from fear, "what do you think learning strategy has to do with bravery?"

"It…" she begins thoughtfully. "It prepares you to act. You learn strategy so you can use it."

I want to respond, but my breathing is too fast and hard at this point. _We're so far up._

"Are you all right, Four?" she asks, and the words pull an answer from me despite everything.

"Are you _human_ , Tris?" I can't believe how utterly fearless she is. "Being up this high…. It doesn't scare you at all?"

She looks over her shoulder at the ground, and even in the low lighting, I can tell that the drop genuinely doesn't bother her. Heights certainly won't be in her fear landscape.

However, as she's looking down, slightly unbalanced, a gust of wind catches her, and she sways to the right, coming partway off the ladder. I hear her gasp at the same time an enormous surge of fear spikes through me. _She's going to fall._

My hand reaches up quickly on its own, grabbing her hip and squeezing to keep her in place. She tightens her grip on the ladder, pulling herself back as I push against her hip until she's where she should be. No, that's not right – she _should_ be on the ground. But at least she's solidly on the ladder again.

I remove my hand reluctantly, still a little afraid she'll fall. As I move it, I realize that one of my fingers is on the bare skin beneath the hem of her tee-shirt. An odd sensation that has nothing to do with the height goes through me.

For a moment, we're both still, breathing hard. It's impossible to say exactly why.

"You okay?" I finally ask.

"Yes," she answers, but her voice is strained. I'm about to suggest we go down when she resumes climbing. We continue silently until we reach a platform that looks like it once had a railing around it but now just has the ends of metal rods sticking up. It doesn't look very secure to me, but Tris climbs onto it easily, sitting with her legs over the edge as if she didn't just almost fall to her death. Part of me wishes I was brave enough to sit beside her, but instead I crouch with my back against the support beam. My breathing is embarrassingly heavy.

"You're afraid of heights," Tris states evenly. It's a comment, not a question, and I don't bother trying to deny it. "How do you survive in the Dauntless compound?"

The question surprises me. I never admit my fears to anyone, because I'm sure people would mock me for them, or use them against me. But she sounds like she views it as a strength – as if I'm strong for facing my fear every day instead of weak for having it in the first place. Or maybe she just has a fear she's wondering how to overcome.

"I ignore my fear," I tell her. "When I make decisions, I pretend it doesn't exist." It's not a great strategy, but I don't know what else to do.

She stares at me silently, and I stare back, finding it easier to ignore the height when I'm looking at her. But we stare too long, and I'm reminded of earlier in the transfers' dormitory. I shouldn't let myself watch her so much. People will notice. _She_ will notice.

"What?" I finally ask her.

"Nothing," she answers quickly – a little too quickly, but her expression is impossible to read right now, so I can't interpret the response.

She turns to look at the city, and I do too, but there's no point. A building blocks our view, and I swear silently. We came all this way and didn't gain any knowledge to help the game.

"We're not high enough," Tris says flatly, looking up. But the ladder doesn't continue upwards.

I'm about to say we might as well head down when Tris comments, "I'm going to climb." I turn to her incredulously, only to see her pulling herself up into the tangle of bars that make up the wheel's scaffolding.

"For God's sake, Stiff," I groan. She can't be serious.

"You don't have to follow me," she answers, her eyes still above her as she continues climbing.

This is foolish. I should order her back to the ground. But if I do that, I will never be sure if it was because that's the sensible thing to do or because I'm afraid. And whether I like it or not, this is Tris' chance to prove herself to the others – and to herself. I can't let my fear get in the way of that.

"Yes, I do," I finally answer as I begin to climb after her. I won't block her Dauntlessness, but I will at least do what I can to keep her safe.

I'm not sure how high we are when she finally stops, staring out at the city again. "See that?" she asks, her voice difficult to hear over the wind that seems to be stronger up here.

I climb until I'm right behind her, fitting my body around hers so I can look over her shoulder. It starts as an attempt to see what she's pointing at, but the moment I'm that close, I know that wasn't my only reason. A kind of aching goes through me, and I forget the height as I focus on her nearness and that amazing scent I noticed while fighting earlier. Her presence is intoxicating.

But I force myself to look at where she's pointing. We're so far up, nothing looks like it should, and perhaps it's better that way. It's easier not to be afraid. Tris is pointing at a tiny light on the ground, surrounded by near darkness. Even from here, I can tell it's the other team's flag.

"Yeah," I respond, somehow finding a smile inside myself. Her idea worked. That makes all this worthwhile.

"It's coming from the park at the end of the pier," I add. "Figures. It's surrounded by open space, but the trees provide some camouflage. Obviously not enough."

"Okay," she says, looking over her shoulder at me. We're close enough that her breath is warm on my face, and I have to work at keeping my expression neutral. But my thoughts certainly aren't.

"Um," she says after a moment, and then she clears her throat. "Start climbing down. I'll follow you."

Something cold goes through my insides. I'm making her uncomfortable. I nod, immediately beginning to move away from her. My thoughts should be focused on the climb, or the game, or anything except her not wanting me nearby. But of course that's all I can think about.

I'm almost to the platform when I hear a clanging noise above me, followed by a strangled cry. "Four!"

My gaze is ripped upward, and my heart stops beating. A bar has fallen from the structure, leaving Tris dangling in mid-air, her hands gripping another bar but her feet loose – and too far away from any other support to reach it. The bar that gave way took another one with it, and in looking at that stretch, I realize it's far too unstable for me to attempt a direct rescue. I'd just take the whole area out with me, and she'd fall to her death.

But she's doomed if I don't do something.

I wrack my brain, bringing everything I know about large equipment to mind at once and sorting through it faster than I've ever thought in my life. And I remember something my father taught me once, about restoring electrical connections to old equipment.

"Hold on!" I shout as loudly as possible, trying to ensure my voice reaches her. "Just hold on, I have an idea."

Even as I say the words, I'm racing downward as fast as I can, my fear of heights non-existent as I drop the last few feet to the platform, scurry across it, and begin shooting down the ladder to the control box.

"Four!" I hear her yell from above me, but I don't stop to look. Everything is now riding on one hope.

The box is where I expected it to be, and I rip it open so quickly I'm not even sure if it was locked or not. It's dead, of course, with no trace of electricity, but I don't let that stop me, reaching instead for the wires and circuits that could bring emergency power.

I say a silent prayer as I make the connections, and it seems like maybe someone up there hears me, because the controls light up. I don't know how to work them, but I flick the most likely switches, and I'm rewarded by the sound of the wheel grinding to life. Slowly, it begins to move, picking up speed as the cars screech and turn. Tris is close enough to the edge to be able to drop safely – if she can hang on until the right point. And if she can drop without hitting the cars or being crushed by them.

Fear is still coursing through me as I watch, uncertain if I'm about to see the one girl I've ever really liked land safely or meet her death.

_She laughs._ It's probably more hysteria than anything else, but somehow it embodies everything that's fearless about her, and it gives me hope that she can do this. If anyone can, it's Tris.

She drops at just the right time, landing on her feet and letting herself crumple to absorb the shock before she begins rolling with her arms tucked to her body. I'm racing toward her as she makes the last roll, barely getting clear of the car zooming past her. _She made it._

She's lying on the ground, her hands pressed to her face, shaking. It's obvious she's alive, but I can't tell if she's injured or not. I drop to my knees beside her, staring. I have to see her, have to know if she's okay, so I wrap my hands around her wrists, pulling her palms away from her face. She looks fine. No, more than that – she looks like every fiber of her being is _awake_.

My hands have enclosed one of hers, holding it tightly as I stare at her, absorbing the energy she's emanating. She's breathtaking.

"You all right?" I manage to ask.

"Yeah." She says it fearlessly, as if she does this kind of thing every day.

I can't help it. I laugh. It's a strange sort of laugh, a type of manic response brought out of me by the strength in her eyes, but after a second, she joins in. The sound is exhilarating.

Tris pushes herself up into a sitting position, causing her to be _right_ by me – less than six inches away. The space is incredibly charged, especially with all the adrenaline still running through me and the power radiating from her. It doesn't help that I'm more aware of her fragrance than ever, and I know I can't stay like this for long without losing what little self-control I have left. Without kissing her. The thought startles me, but there's no question the wanting is there. It's almost overwhelming.

I stand, pulling her to her feet and double-checking that she's not injured. She's not.

"You could have told me that the Ferris wheel still worked," she comments almost casually. "We wouldn't have had to climb in the first place." I practically gawk at her. Does she seriously think I knew that in advance and risked her life for _nothing_?

"I would have, if I had known," I respond, trying to hide my disbelief. "Couldn't just let you hang there," I add, "so I took a risk."

She nods, accepting that calmly. Anyone else would be paralyzed by fear at this point, if they'd even had the wits to make it this far, but she seems more energized than ever. It's quite remarkable. But I need to stop thinking about that.

With a monumental effort, I focus on why we came here in the first place. "Come on," I tell her, "time to get their flag."

She nods again, but I hesitate for another second. I don't want this closeness to end. And despite how calm she seems, she did just narrowly escape death. So, I wrap a hand around her arm, providing a little support as I lead her back to the others. To be honest, I'm not sure if the contact is more for my sake or hers, but I do know that I can't help smiling at her as we walk. Her presence is electrifying.

When we get back to the carousel, only five people are there, the flag sitting behind them, glowing softly in the dark. The rest of the team is gone.

"Where'd the others go?" I ask, wanting to collect them as quickly as possible. I'm suddenly excited to win this game.

"Did you guys turn on the wheel," Camilla asks. "What the hell were you thinking? You might as well have just shouted 'Here we are! Come and get us!'" She shakes her head before adding, "If I lose again this year, the shame will be unbearable. Three years in a row?"

She annoys me, but I don't let her get to me. "The wheel doesn't matter," I tell her brusquely. "We know where they are."

"We?" Christina asks, looking from me to Tris, and I can practically feel her Candor eyes on the hand I still have placed on Tris' arm. I'm not going to address that, but I can certainly distract her from it.

"Yes," I answer firmly, "while the rest of you were twiddling your thumbs, Tris climbed the Ferris wheel to look for the other team." The shock on Christina's face is obvious, and for a moment, I'm aggravated that she would underestimate her friend. She should know better.

"What do we do now, then?" Uriah answers, yawning despite an obvious effort to look awake and alert. He's grown an inch in the last four months, so I guess it's not surprising that he needs extra sleep these days.

But I don't answer him. Instead, I deliberately turn my eyes to Tris. Slowly, the others follow suit, until we're all watching her. This is her chance to shine, and I want to make sure she gets it.

For a moment, she looks like she has no idea how to respond, and I can feel her muscles tensing through the hand I still have on her. _Come on, Tris, think._ And she does.

"Split in half," she says. "Four of us go to the right side of the pier, three to the left. The other team is in the park at the end of the pier, so the group of four will charge as the group of three sneaks behind the other team to get the flag."

I feel an abrupt desire to hug her – and not just because I'm attracted to her. It's because she deserves it. She's not wasting time looking for the rest of our team; she's simply working with the resources we have to solve the problem as efficiently as possible, and she's delivered an excellent idea. I can't help but grin at her.

The others seem to feel the same way. "Sounds good," Camilla says, clapping her hands together. "Let's get this night over with, shall we?"

Tris, Christina, and Uriah end up going after the flag, while I go with the others to serve as a distraction. We move swiftly, but as quietly as possible, until we can see the other team. And then we charge.

We shout, acting as if we're trying to intimidate the other team when we're really covering any noise Tris' group might make. And we shoot, aiming our paintball guns at everyone in sight and firing repeatedly until either they go down or we do.

Camilla and I are the only two left "uninjured" when I hear Christina and Uriah whooping in victory. The rest of my team joins in immediately, running towards Tris' group, and I find myself racing with them and calling just as loudly as they do. I rarely show this type of enthusiasm, but I _love_ that we just won because of Tris' idea and leadership. No one can doubt now that she truly belongs in Dauntless.

As our groups come together, everyone else gathers around Christina, who is holding the flag high above her. But I notice Tris standing a little to the side and watching with mixed emotions on her face. She must have let Christina get the flag, whether out of selflessness or strategy I don't know, but she seems somewhat torn by that decision. She shouldn't be. This is unquestionably her victory either way.

I walk over to her, placing my hand on her shoulder for no reason except that I can't seem to resist touching her.

"Well done," I say. She looks at me, smiling, and in that moment, everything seems right with the world. And part of me begins to wonder if this is what life would be like if I stayed in Dauntless with her. I smile back. I'll have to consider that option.

* * *

Eric remains silent the entire train ride back, glaring daggers at me much of that time. That's fine. I'd rather he blame me than my team, especially Tris.

His team members don't talk much, either. Mine, on the other hand, are rowdy and cheery and everything I'd expect from Dauntless who just won an important match.

"So you climbed the Ferris wheel, huh," I hear Uriah say to Tris, and my eyes snap to him automatically as I try to resist the urge to shape my hands into fists. I like Uriah – I really do. He's my best friend's brother, and the closest thing I have to a younger sibling myself. But I do _not_ like the interest in his eyes as he looks at Tris right now.

"Yes," I hear her admit.

Marlene speaks up next, and I'm glad to see her join the conversation. I've long suspected that she and Uriah like each other.

"Pretty smart of you," she says. "Like…Erudite smart." I manage not to flinch, though I do look at Eric to see if he noticed the comment. I don't want him hearing anything that even hints at Divergence. Fortunately, he seems to be lost in thought, scowling at the floor, his facial muscles ticking along with some internal conversation.

By the time I turn my focus back to the others, Marlene is saying, "Yeah, I know who you are. The first jumper tends to stick in your head." That comment makes me smile a bit. Tris will be even better known after tonight, and despite what Eric might want, everyone will expect her to make it through initiation. That will make it more difficult for him to cut her just to get at me.

As I watch, Uriah takes one of the paintballs out of his gun and squishes it between his fingers experimentally. I'm about to warn him that those things explode easily when the train lurches to the side, and he ends up spraying the pink paint all over Tris' face. For a second, I simply freeze, not sure whether to be annoyed with him or to laugh. Tris' expression _is_ rather amusing.

Marlene collapses to the floor, giggling hysterically as Tris slowly wipes the paint from her face. She looks at it for a fraction of a second before reaching out and smearing it onto Uriah's cheek. The motion is a little too much like flirting, and the amusement dies in my throat, replaced by the feeling of ice through my stomach.

"Ew!" I hear Uriah say as he attempts to squeeze more paint onto Tris, but this time, he does it wrong, and it bursts into his mouth instead. He coughs and gags and attempts to scrape off his tongue as Tris dissolves into laughter. Soon, Christina and Will join in, but I notice that Al doesn't. He watches Tris instead, and his expression mirrors the feelings churning inside me. Great. Now there are three of us who like her.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that was a long chapter. Please take a moment to review it. I truly appreciate every review - they help motivate me to write, and they always make my day. Thanks!


	12. Divergent Chapter 13 – Knife-Throwing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who reviewed the last chapter! I always love reviews. :-) Thank you also to my fantastic beta reader, Rosalie!
> 
> Several people made good arguments for writing this chapter from Tobias' perspective, even though Veronica Roth already did that and my "Divergent" fanfics are consistent with that particular short story of hers. So, I went ahead with his POV. I tried to stay true to the short story while also making the chapter flow with my story so far; plus, I tried not to just copy all of Roth's copyrighted material. Hopefully, my efforts paid off, and this chapter works without being too much like the original. If not, you can always re-read the short story...
> 
> By the way, for those who wanted this chapter to be written from Al's POV, I'll post that as a separate fic at some point.

  
**"** **Divergent" Chapter 13 – Knife-Throwing**

"Congratulations," Max says with a wide smile as he joins me at breakfast. He doesn't do this often, but there's a certain status associated with winning capture the flag.

"It was the initiates who won," I tell him plainly. "I try not to interfere."

He chuckles. "Coming from you, I believe that." I know what he means. I can't imagine Eric following that rule.

"How are the initiates doing overall?" he asks before taking a bite of his muffin.

"They're surviving." _Despite Eric's efforts._ "Some of them are doing better than others, of course."

"Which ones are best?" It's not a surprising question, coming from Max.

"Edward," I answer without hesitation. "He has a lot of skill." Max nods, and I debate stopping there, since it's harder to decide what to say about the others. They're less likely to end up factionless if they have his support, but I don't want him watching them _too_ closely either.

"And Tris," I finally add. "You know, the first jumper. She climbed the Ferris wheel last night and used the height to locate Eric's team."

Max's eyebrows shoot up. "Well, that's bold," he comments. I just nod, yawning as if I'm too tired to pay much attention to the conversation. I don't want him to think I'm biased.

"Peter's probably next," I add. "In terms of skills anyway. But his attitude is a problem. He's cocky and a bit of a coward."

Max grunts, taking another bite of his breakfast. "I guess we'll see how he does in the simulations, then."

"Yeah, I suppose so." I eat some of my oatmeal before adding, "Most of the rest are okay, but not exceptional so far."

Max nods, finishing his muffin with a last, large bite. "Well, I'm sure you'll turn some of them into good members," he comments through his full mouth. He rises, thumping me on the shoulder. "Congratulations, again."

As he walks away, I notice Eric behind him, sitting at the table next to mine. He's frowning as he glares at his bran muffin, and it's obvious he heard everything we said. That's not good, since I didn't want him to know that Tris is the one who beat him. But still, maybe it's just as well he heard Max's reaction. He's less likely to try to kick her out if he thinks Max is on her side.

I just hope it doesn't make him pay more attention to her.

* * *

The training room smells of metal and dust and sweat, as it usually does, and I breathe it in deeply. This room is the first place I ever felt strong, and the scent always reminds me of that feeling. Maybe it will help me deal with Eric today.

He's pacing in irritation as we wait for the initiates to arrive, and I know he's still fuming over his loss last night and over the way Max asked _me_ for an update on the transfers. But at least it keeps him quiet, and that makes it easier to ignore him until everyone is here.

They filter in slowly, still tired from being up so much of the night, and as usual I struggle to keep myself from watching Tris too much. It's getting harder and harder to fight that impulse.

As soon as the last initiate walks through the door, Eric begins. Clearly, he's not interested in letting me take the lead today.

"Tomorrow will be the last day of stage one," he tells them. "You will resume fighting then. Today, you'll be learning how to aim," and he gestures at the table that is covered with throwing knives.

"Everyone pick up three knives, and pay attention while Four demonstrates the correct technique for throwing them."

I know he's assigning that duty to me as a way of rubbing in the fact that he's in charge, but it doesn't bother me. We both know my aim is better than his.

"Now!" Eric adds, his anger practically vibrating through the air.

They scramble for knives, desperate to avoid his wrath. All except Tris. She collects hers smoothly, with deliberate movements, her blond head slipping easily between the shoulders of the taller initiates. I'm not surprised by her calmness, not after last night. It seems to be impossible to rattle her.

Eric walks by me, his expression unusually murderous, and I have to force myself not to back away instinctively. I know I can beat him in a fight if it comes down to it – I certainly have before – but that's not the way he's most dangerous. No, the risk with him is that he's smarter than he should be for this faction. Smart enough to notice how much I stare at Tris, and vicious enough to harm her to get to me.

I turn toward the target, using the excuse to avoid his gaze, as I prepare to throw. I can feel everyone's eyes on me, but I ignore them, focusing on my breathing the way Amar always taught me.

I actually requested that the knife-throwing be removed from this year's training, since it serves no real purpose. No one here will ever use it except to impress someone, the way I will impress them now. But Eric insisted that dazzling people can be useful, and he used that as an excuse to deny my request. In reality, he probably did it simply because I'm the one who asked, but it doesn't really matter. Either way, it sums up everything I hate about this faction.

The feeling doesn't affect my aim. I hold the extra two knives in my left hand while I balance the one I'm throwing in my right, gripping the blade between my fingers. I inhale, staring at the center of the target. I exhale, and throw. The knife imbeds itself firmly into the center of the target. I hear a few of the initiates draw breath at the same time, but I simply continue with the next knife, throwing one after another into the dead center, keeping my focus strong. The other factions call us brutish, as if we don't use our minds, but that is all I do here.

After I throw the last one, Eric yells, "Line up!" and the initiates jump to obey. I leave the knives in the board to remind them of what is possible while I move to the side wall to watch.

From here, I can see the entire group at once, which makes it easier to look at Tris without getting caught. Her arm is clumsy, and I wish I could get away with showing her some real tips instead of expecting her to magically absorb everything from a demonstration. But at least she's no worse than the others.

Knives are flying, but most of the time, they're not spinning. Even Edward hasn't figured that part out yet. It's almost reassuring that there's something he's not good at, since he certainly shouldn't have been able to practice this skill in Erudite.

"I think the Stiff's taken too many hits to the head!" Peter yells, and I cross my arms to hide my balled hands. I dislike that particular Candor more every day. He's too much like Eric, trying to shrink others to make himself seem better. Too much like my father.

"Hey, Stiff!" he continues. "Remember what a _knife_ is?"

Tris doesn't bother answering, refusing to let him ruffle her calm. Instead, she just picks up a knife and throws. It's not a great throw, by any means, but it's the first one besides mine to hit the target, even if it bounces off.

"Hey, Peter," she calls, mimicking his tone. "Remember what a _target_ is?" I have to bite my tongue to suppress a laugh.

Gradually, the others begin hitting their targets after that, and I watch their techniques. I have to admit that Christina is good, though I don't like giving credit to Candor smart-mouths. Unfortunately, so is Peter, though I hate even more to give credit to future psychopaths.

Al is a problem. It's bad enough that he's been deliberately losing his fights, but today he seems to be nothing more than a walking, talking sledgehammer – all power and no finesse. He hasn't hit the board yet.

It's a shame that Eric notices too.

"How slow _are_ you, Candor?" he spits in Al's face. "Do you need glasses? Should I move the target closer to you?"

Al tenses, his face turning red, but he attempts to continue despite the taunting. Unfortunately, he fails utterly, his next throw sailing into the wall.

"What was that, initiate?" Eric asks quietly, his tone filled with menace as he leans closer to the Sledgehammer's face.

"It – it slipped," Al mumbles.

"Well, I think you should go get it."

By now, the whole room is watching this scene unfold, and no one is throwing anymore. That catches Eric's attention.

"Did I tell you to stop?" he demands fiercely, looking around the room with an almost rabid expression. The other initiates immediately resume launching knives, and a cold feeling sinks through my stomach. This is not good.

"Go get it?" Al asks, his eyes wide. "But everyone's still throwing."

"And?"

"And I don't want to get hit." Typical Candor – too honest for his own good.

Eric's voice is deadly calm, and there's a cruel smile on his face as he says, "I think you can trust your fellow initiates to aim better than you. Go get your knife."

"No," Al responds firmly, setting his wide jaw and glaring right back at Eric. The response is stubborn, which by itself isn't a problem since that could pass as bravery. But it lacks strategy. There's no way Eric will accept it.

"Why not?" Eric asks, his eyes burning holes into Al's head. "Are you afraid?"

In that moment, I wish that Al had a little Erudite in him, but his next words make it clear that he doesn't.

"Of getting stabbed by an airborne knife?" he asks in an almost panicked tone. "Yes, I am!"

"Everyone stop!" Eric yells. "Clear out the ring." His eyes turn to Al, and I know what he's going to do before he says it. "All except you. Stand in front of the target."

The others drop their knives and move to the edges of the room as Al steps forward, gulping in obvious fear and trying to control the shaking in his hands. He lumbers to the target, clumsy and bulky as always, and takes his place in front of it. I have no idea why he ever picked Dauntless in the first place; it can't possibly have been his aptitude.

I step away from the wall where I've been standing, wondering if I can get away with interfering before this ends with a lost eye or a pierced throat. With horror, as every fight I've witnessed has, each one driving me further and further from the faction I chose as a haven.

It's almost a relief when Eric says, "Hey, Four, give me a hand here, huh?" At least I know how to aim, which reduces the chance of this day ending in injury. But I don't want to throw knives at an initiate. It's a level of cruelty I refuse to embrace – something that is too much like my father.

I try to act casual, scratching my eyebrow with a knife point while I watch, despite how tight my chest feels.

"You're going to stand there," Eric tells Al fiercely, "as he throws those knives until you learn not to flinch."

The ball is clearly in my court now, but I don't know what to do with it. This doesn't quite cross the lines Max drew on punishments, which means I can't stop it outright. The most I could do would be to refuse to participate, but that's not really an option. Eric would just throw the knives himself, and that would be even worse.

I ask the only question I can. "Is this really necessary?" I try to keep my voice bored, so it doesn't sound like a challenge that Eric will feel the need to crush.

He glares at me, but I stare back calmly, as if this isn't an attempt to undermine his power. He knows better. "I have the authority here, remember?" he hisses, his voice barely above a whisper. "Here, and everywhere else."

The heat rises in my cheeks as I know I've lost. And once again, part of me regrets not accepting Max's offer. I would have hated everything about being a leader of this faction the way it is now, but it would have been better than letting Eric get away with dangling initiates over the chasm and forcing them to beat each other senseless and making them stand in the way of airborne knives.

An odd pain in my fingers catches my attention, and I realize that I've been gripping the knives so tightly they've dug into my skin. I make an effort to loosen my hold as I turn toward Al. He's so large he covers almost the entire target, and a sick feeling goes through me. It will be extremely difficult not to hit him, particularly if he moves. But there's not exactly much choice here….

My entire body goes rigid when Tris speaks. " _Stop_ it!" she yells, and I know her Abnegation habits are acting up.

I glare at her immediately, trying to get her to stop now before she ends up in the middle of this. I do _not_ want Eric turning on her.

But she doesn't stop, of course. "Any idiot can stand in front of a target," she argues forcefully. "It doesn't prove anything except that you're bullying us. Which, as I recall, is a sign of _cowardice_." A small part of me loves that she just dared to call Eric a coward, but the larger part of me dreads his response.

"Then it should be easy for you," he hisses, pushing his hair back so it curls around his ear, "if you're willing to take his place."

She barely hesitates before stepping forward, her head held high, and I almost groan. _I can't possibly throw knives at_ _ **her**_ _._ But even as I'm thinking that, Eric turns his gaze on me, the slightest hint of a smile ghosting his face, and I go cold at his expression. _He knows._ He's seen me looking at her and has figured out how much I'm starting to care. And now he's going to make me do _this_ , just because he can.

For an instant – no, longer than an instant – I think about throwing the blades at him instead. I could hit him in the arm, or the leg, no harm done….

"There goes your pretty face," Peter says as Tris passes him. "Oh, wait. You don't have one." The comment sends a shoot of fury through me. It's yet another way he's like Eric – taunting someone who's braver than he'll ever be. I _hate_ that they're putting her in this position – and me along with her, because there's no way I can leave now. I can't let Eric throw the knives instead.

Tris exchanges a nod with Al as she takes his place, standing with her back to the board and facing the group. Her head barely skims the bottom of the target's center, and the objective voice in the back of my mind tells me it's far safer to throw knives at her than at Al. She's brave enough to hold still and small enough to aim around.

But that doesn't make me feel any better.

I watch as she tips her chin up and looks directly at me with that Abnegation stubbornness I know so well. She may have left them, but they're what's making her strong. Perhaps I can use that to help her.

"If you flinch," I say evenly, "Al takes your place. Understand?" She nods, and I can't help but notice that once again, there's no sign of fear on her face. She's unbelievably brave.

Eric stands a little too close behind me, tapping his foot on the floor. I don't know if he's attempting to distract me or intimidate me, but I can't let him do either. I have to get this right – hitting close enough to satisfy Eric's need for punishment without actually hurting Tris.

Before I have time to over-think it, I throw the first knife, my eyes holding Tris' the entire time. She stays perfectly still as the blade whistles past her, imbedding itself into the board near her cheek. Six inches to the right and it would have sliced her. _There goes your pretty face._

But Peter's right in a way. She's not "pretty" as the Dauntless use that word, to describe exposed skin and pierced bodies and flirtatious smiles. She is so much more than that – small but strong, with her bright eyes that demand attention. Looking at her is like waking up.

She closes those fierce eyes now, probably in relief that the knife didn't hit her, and I know I need to remind her again of her selflessness.

"You about done, Stiff?" I ask.

_Stiff. That's why you're strong. Get it?_ But of course she doesn't. Why would she? She doesn't know I'm from the same place she is.

"No," she responds angrily.

"Eyes open, then," I tell her, tapping the skin between my eyebrows. I don't really need her eyes to be on mine, but I feel better when they are.

I inhale deeply of the dust-sweat-metal smell and pass a knife from my left hand to my right. Eric inches closer, but I ignore him, focusing on the part in Tris' hair. I throw with my exhale, watching as the knife slams into the board exactly where I aimed it, brushing against strands of her hair. That's two down.

"Come on, Stiff," I say, knowing that challenging her is the best way to keep her strong and get her through this. "Let someone else stand there and take it."

"Shut _up_ , Four!" she snarls, and I want to yell back that I'm as frustrated as she is, with an Erudite vulture analyzing my every move, searching for my weak points so he can hit them as hard as he can. Particularly when my biggest weak point is _her_.

Eric moves even closer behind me, and I hear his thoughtful "hmm." And it strikes me again that he already suspects how I feel. Somehow, I have to convince him that he's wrong, that she's just another initiate to me, and I have to do it now.

I breathe deeply and make a quick decision, staring at the tip of Tris' ear, at the quick-healing cartilage.

The fear does not exist. My beating heart, tight chest, and sweating palms do not exist. I throw quickly, before my dread can stop me.

She winces, blood pricking where the blade nicked her, but I'm too relieved to feel bad about it. _I did it._ The punishment is over, and she's not seriously injured, and maybe, just maybe, it was enough to convince Eric.

"I would love to stay and see if the rest of you are as daring as she is," Eric comments from behind me. "But I think that's enough for today." To me, he mutters, "Well, that should scare them, huh?"

I don't answer, but I don't think he expects me to. Instead, he walks over to Tris, placing a hand on her shoulder in an almost possessive way that makes my skin crawl.

"I should keep my eye on you," he tells her with a metal-framed smile. Between him and the blood trickling down her ear and onto her neck, I have to look away to control the sick feeling going through my stomach.

He leaves, and the others filter out behind him. But I stay to retrieve the knives and put them away, and Tris stays too. I'm not sure why.

When the last footsteps die away, I approach her.

"Is your–" I begin, reaching for the side of her head, feeling the need to have my hand on her again, to make sure she's okay.

But she's in no mood for that. "You did that on _purpose_!" she yells, glaring at me with a fury that is akin to hatred.

"Yes, I did," I admit quietly. There's no point denying it, after all. "And you should thank me for helping you." The moment I say it, I know it's rotten wording, but surely she understands that this was the only way to keep Eric from doing something much worse?

Obviously, though, she doesn't, because she snarls, " _Thank_ you? You almost stabbed my ear, and you spent the entire time taunting me. Why should I thank you?"

_Taunting?_ I scowl at her. She's so smart about everything else. How can she be so blind about me?

"You know," I say in frustration. "I'm getting a little tired of waiting for you to catch on!"

"Catch on? Catch on to what? That you wanted to prove to Eric how tough you are? That you're sadistic, just like he is?"

The accusation makes me feel cold. She thinks I'm like Eric? She thinks I want to _impress_ him?

"I am not sadistic," I manage to say. I lean closer to her, but that's a mistake. Immediately, I feel nervous, like something is prickling in my chest, and I lose the thought I wanted to express. All that comes out is, "If I wanted to hurt you, don't you think I would have already?"

She's so close, and I just want to touch her, to explain, to make her understand that I'm on her side, that I'm not like Eric. But the coldness goes through me again as I realize that if she thinks I am, none of that will ever happen.

_Of course she thinks that._ I just threw knives at her head. It doesn't matter that Eric gave the orders – I'm still the one who carried them out. I've screwed everything up. Permanently.

My breathing is suddenly quick, and I know I have to get out of here. I cross the room rapidly, slamming the knife that's still in my hand into the table before shoving my way through the door.

Her frustrated scream follows me down the hallway, reinforcing just how angry she is. Eric has taken away the one hope I had, the one person I might have forged a future with.

I reach the quiet spot in the hallway, the one the cameras don't monitor, and I sink into a crouch with my back to the wall. And for a long time, I just stay there, thinking.

Before Tris got here, everything had stalled inside me, and every morning was just moving toward nighttime. I was certain I'd never form a real home here – so certain that I'd decided to leave, to go factionless, after this class of initiates had finished. But then she was here, and she was just like me, putting aside her gray clothes but not really putting them aside because she knows the secret, that they are the strongest armor we can wear.

And now she hates me, and I can't even leave Dauntless like I'd planned, because I can't leave her. I can't leave her to whatever Eric might do.

Unbidden, the memory comes of how it felt to hold her hand last night, to be that close to her – and I know I want that. More than I've ever wanted anything. It _hurts_ to think I'll never have it.

But I stand and make my way toward my room anyway. Even if she hates me, I'll stay here for her sake. I know that now. She matters more than I do, so somehow I'll find a way to keep her safe.

And maybe, someday, she'll no longer hate me for it.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please take a moment to review this chapter and let me know if it worked or not. I know I say this a lot, but reviews make a huge difference for me. They motivate me to write and help me fix things that aren't working before I get too far downstream. I read every review and really, really appreciate them. Thanks!


	13. Divergent Chapter 14 – Tris Versus Molly

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who reviewed the last chapter! Your support means so much. Thank you also to my wonderful beta reader, Rosalie!

**"** **Divergent" Chapter 14 – Tris Versus Molly**

I spend the evening figuring out the initiates' current rankings. There's only one day of fighting left, so it's important to pair them well for it. For some, that fight will determine if they're here for stage two or not.

It takes a long time to come up with the preliminary list, since it's not just a matter of how many rounds each person has won. I also have to consider how tough their opponents were. Plus, there's a little wiggle room to reward improvement and to punish bullying – not much, but a little.

When I finally finish, I evaluate the rankings for a while.

1\. Edward

2\. Peter

3\. Molly

4\. Will

5\. Al

6\. Christina

7\. Drew

8\. Tris

9\. Myra

We always tell the initiates that the four who are cut could come entirely from the transfers or from the Dauntless-born or could be any mix of those, but in reality, the leaders always drop at least one from each group – and always at least two from the transfers. And that means Tris needs to improve her ranking tomorrow, or she'll be factionless.

I scan the list above her, trying to figure out who to match her with. Drew is scheduled to sit out tomorrow, and the three immediately above him are all Tris' friends. I don't know if she's willing to fight hard enough against them to win the way she needs. She has too much Abnegation left in her.

Besides, Christina can't afford to lose tomorrow, or she's likely to end up being cut, and she deserves the chance to continue too. I glance quickly at the options and realize that Christina has to fight Al – she's not good enough to beat Edward or Peter, and she wouldn't gain anything from beating Myra, and she's already fought Will and Molly, so Al is her only chance.

That leaves Molly as Tris' opponent. I debate that for a little while, thinking about how cruel Molly has been in her fights. But Tris is tough and brave, and if she uses the techniques I taught her, she could pull it off. It's the only real chance she has to stay in this faction, and she certainly deserves the opportunity.

I write down the pairs, placing Edward and Peter together and Myra with Will. She's out of here no matter what, since she hasn't won a fight yet and shows absolutely no aptitude for this faction, but at least he'll make it quick. He's not sadistic like some of the others.

Overall, it's a reasonable set of matches. Now, it's up to the initiates to earn their place here.

* * *

Tris isn't at breakfast in the morning. I try hard not to let that bother me, but I'm still haunted by the fury in her eyes yesterday, particularly after dreaming all night about throwing knives at her. It would be nice to see her laughing with her friends and acting normal, even if she still hates _me_.

Zeke is in rare form, going on about an elaborate prank he's planning on Shauna, but I can't seem to pay enough attention to grasp the details. He wraps it up with a statement about how long the static will hold the feathers to the ceiling before he looks at me expectantly, asking what I think.

I just roll my eyes. Fortunately, that's usually a suitable response to Zeke's antics, and he doesn't seem to notice how distracted I am.

It's getting late by the time I reach the training room, and I hurry to write the pairings on the board. Eric watches me closely, but I doubt he'll object to the matches I came up with – on the face of it, the lowest-ranked people look like they'll be creamed, and that should appeal to him.

"You okay, Tris?" I hear Al asking as I start writing Molly's name next to hers. "You look a little…."

"A little what?" she snaps. Is she still angry from yesterday, or has something else happened?

"On edge," Al finishes as I move away from the board. Eric glances at the names and nods once, but I ignore him and turn to the initiates. They're all here. I keep myself from looking at Tris, motioning instead to Will and Myra. They step into the ring, Will's body language radiating confidence while Myra looks scared, as she always does. Edward certainly didn't do her any favors by convincing her to transfer to this faction. I wonder if she's looking forward to leaving.

I lean against the wall, yawning as the two shuffle around for a bit before Will wins easily. Eric looks disappointed by the lack of blood.

Christina and Al come forward next, and I wonder briefly if Al will actually fight today. If he doesn't, his score will fall a lot, and he risks becoming factionless. I can't say I'll feel sorry for him if that happens, since it's his choice, but the Abnegation in me feels a little bad that he's being punished for not wanting to hurt others.

The fight only lasts a few minutes before Al takes an obvious dive, not even punching Christina once before he falls and doesn't get up. Eric shakes his head, a combination of fury and disgust on his face. I doubt Al will be here in two days, but at least Christina is much more likely to make it now.

Edward and Peter are next, and Eric and I both pay attention to this match. The two fight hard, both doing pretty well, but Edward's skills are clearly better, and he ends up winning decisively. Good. It's nice to see Peter on the receiving end of the abuse he likes to dish out.

I watch closely as Tris and Molly enter the ring. By now, it's not surprising that Tris shows no fear and plenty of determination, but there's something else in her expression too – something I haven't seen before.

"Was that a birthmark I saw on your left butt cheek?" Molly taunts, smirking cruelly. The unidentifiable look on Tris' face intensifies, and I know something must have happened between them very recently. But Tris doesn't answer and doesn't lose her calm. Instead, she waits.

Molly lunges forward, throwing her weight into a punch, and Tris does exactly what I taught her. She steps to the side, ducking around her opponent, and gets in close. It would have been better if she'd used her elbow, but she punches instead. Still, it's a decent strike, and I'm proud of her as she continues past Molly and faces her again with her hands up.

Eric is watching with interest at this point, as is most of the room. They probably didn't expect the fight to be this even.

Molly's amusement is gone, and she charges foolishly, too angry to strategize. Again, Tris steps to the side, blocking Molly's blow with her forearm, but she's not quite fast enough to strike back before Molly manages a side kick. It's clumsy, and Tris dodges it, leaving Molly off balance. _Now._

Sure enough, Tris goes in with her elbow, but she aims for the face, which is just a little too far away. She should have gone for the floating rib. Molly jerks her head back in time and ends up with just a graze along her chin. Even worse, she's able to counter-punch, catching Tris in the side. Damn.

My hands are in tight fists as the initiates face each other again. Tris' entire future is at stake right now, and it's getting to me. Fortunately, _she's_ still calm. She watches Molly carefully, evaluating her stance and habits, looking for weaknesses. There are a number of them, so I'm not entirely sure which one Tris sees before she moves.

She punches low, below Molly's bellybutton, and then immediately sweeps her opponent's feet out from under her. Molly hits the floor hard, and Tris begins kicking her fiercely in the ribs. The larger girl curls into a ball, trying to protect herself, but Tris just changes her aim, driving her foot straight into Molly's nose this time, causing blood to burst out and flow everywhere.

She's won, and for a moment, I feel relief. But that changes quickly when Tris doesn't stop. Her Abnegation instincts should be taking effect, but instead she keeps kicking, her face twisted in fury and disgust. And I finally recognize the expression I glimpsed earlier. _Shame._ Whatever Molly did, it got to Tris, and it's driving her to want revenge now. But I know she'll regret this later.

"Enough," I say loudly, but Tris doesn't seem to hear. I cross the room quickly, clamping my hands around Tris' arms and pulling her firmly away from her opponent. Tris is breathing hard, still staring at Molly and struggling to attack her more.

"You won," I tell her quietly. "Stop."

Tris pulls a hand free and uses it to wipe her forehead before she finally tears her eyes away from Molly. For a second, she stares at me, her eyes wild and vicious. She looks nothing like her usual calm self, and I can't help but worry. _Just what did Molly do to affect her this way?_

"I think you should leave," I say as levelly as I can. "Take a walk." It's advice that Amar used to give me a lot, whenever I lost control.

But Tris shakes her head. "I'm fine," she says, still looking feral. I'm about to disagree when she adds somewhat more calmly, "I'm fine now."

She pulls her other arm away from me and walks to an empty spot along the wall, not joining her friends and not looking at anyone.

I force myself to turn back to Molly, realizing that she clearly needs medical attention. She's too big for any one person to carry, so I gesture to Al and Peter. "Take her to the infirmary," I order. "The rest of you are dismissed."

As I move to the board to circle Tris' name, I catch sight of Eric's face. He's staring at Molly's blood, a look of pleasure and excitement on his features. It makes a shudder of revulsion go up my spine, but I suppose I should be glad in a way. He certainly won't cut Tris now.

* * *

I spend the afternoon recalculating the rankings based on today's wins and losses. Not surprisingly, Al and Molly both dropped considerably, while Tris and Christina rose.

When I finish, I spend a while looking at the final list.

1\. Edward

2\. Peter

3\. Will

4\. Christina

5\. Molly

6\. Tris

7\. Drew

8\. Al

9\. Myra

It's fair. Al made his own decisions, and Myra never should have come here in the first place. Drew might or might not be cut, but he's unlikely to make it into the final ten anyway – he's just not good enough.

It takes longer to write up my report, explaining my reasoning and detailing each initiate's wins and losses. The leaders are supposed to look at it along with Lauren's report before deciding who to cut, but realistically, they'll probably just take the bottom two from each group.

When I finally finish, it's time for dinner. Good. I need to spend some time with my friends, and mostly, I need to stop thinking about Tris for a while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to have a hard time updating over the next two weeks, since I'll be on vacation. Hopefully, I'll be able to update a few times, but if I don't, please don't think that I've given up on the story. I'll definitely be back soon! In the meantime, reviews would certainly help motivate me to find a way to update (hint, hint)! :-)


	14. Divergent Chapter 15 – Visiting Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed the last chapter! You're a fantastic group of readers, and I really appreciate your support. Thank you also to my wonderful beta reader, Rosalie!

  
**"** **Divergent" Chapter 15 – Visiting Day**

I normally avoid the Pit on Visiting Day. It's not that I'm afraid my father will make an appearance – I know he'd never set foot inside this faction. It's more that I don't like being around so many happy families. Seeing them reminds me of what I've never had and probably never will have.

But I'm here today for a very specific purpose. Andrew Prior might show up to visit Tris, and he's one of the leaders of the city. I can't say I know him well – I've only ever seen him from a distance – but if I tell him what the Erudite are planning, he's in a position to do something about it. And a large part of me would rather warn him than Marcus, particularly if Andrew is anything like his daughter. So, I'm determined to get him alone, away from the cameras, and somehow say the words.

It's impossible not to be nervous. I stare at the chasm, thinking about exactly what to say. _Excuse me, sir. I know my father has told you I'm unstable and not to be trusted, and I've been teaching your daughter to beat others to a bloody pulp, but you need to believe me that you're going to be attacked. And you need to defy your faction's entire set of values to defend yourselves._

I lean over the railing, watching the water crash and feeling the mist on my face while I try to unclench my stomach. There's no way to pretend this will go well, or easily. But it's probably the best chance I'll get to warn the Abnegation, and I can't do _nothing_. Even if that's what they choose to do in response.

"He's _handsome_ ," I hear behind me. The voice is unfamiliar, but it's not an uncommon statement around here, so I don't bother to look until I hear the laugh. Something is different about it – or more accurately, familiar. It's the kind of laughter I grew up hearing, a moment of humor breaking through a careful and polite veneer. I look over my shoulder.

Tris is standing there with her mother, Natalie Prior. I knew she'd probably visit today, but somehow I'm still unprepared for the sight of her. She's dressed entirely in gray, in the clothing that all Abnegation women wear, and that brings up memories of my own mother from when I was very young, along with the good aspects of my former faction.

"Hello," she says, walking up to me without hesitation and extending her hand. "My name is Natalie. I'm Beatrice's mother."

I take her outstretched hand, shaking it awkwardly. I'm not sure I'll ever master this particular skill.

"Four," I answer. "It's nice to meet you." But a cold weight is sinking into my stomach. Her husband isn't here, and I don't know if it's a good idea to talk to Natalie about an upcoming war. She's a total unknown for me, and this information is much too dangerous to toss around casually.

Her eyes are neutral as she comments, "Four? Is that a nickname?"

"Yes," I answer simply, not explaining. I'm certainly not going to reveal my real name in front of Tris. Besides, this day is supposed to be about the initiates, not me. So, I add, "Your daughter is doing well here. I've been overseeing her training."

Tris gives me a hard look, and I have to work to avoid sighing. She's obviously still angry about the knife-throwing.

Natalie, on the other hand, smiles politely. "That's good to hear. I know a few things about Dauntless initiation, and I was worried about her."

The comment is surprising, since she shouldn't know anything about this faction's training process, but I suppose she's heard some things from the factionless. A large percentage of them are former Dauntless, and the Abnegation spend a lot of time helping them.

I look at Tris automatically, watching her reaction to her mother's statement. She looks stern and fierce and brave, as she always does.

"You shouldn't worry," I say. Oddly, the comment makes Tris blush.

Natalie tilts her head at me. "You look familiar for some reason, Four," she states idly. Except that the Abnegation don't say things like that idly. _She recognizes me._ I need to keep the conversation from going in that direction.

"I can't imagine why," I reply coldly. "I don't make a habit of associating with the Abnegation."

Natalie laughs lightly, a sound intended to relax tension, and it works. I feel myself calming down. "Few people do, these days," she says in a friendly tone. "I don't take it personally."

I nod, realizing that this is a good time to end the conversation. "Well," I say, "I'll leave you to your reunion." I don't look at Tris again before walking away from them. I need to figure out what to do, and it won't help to be distracted by her mesmerizing eyes. Or to be reminded that she hates me now.

For reasons that aren't entirely clear to me, I make my way to the control room. Amy is on duty today, and she raises an eyebrow when she sees me.

"What are you doing here?" she asks.

I shrug. "I don't want to chit-chat with the initiates' families," I tell her, "but I'm supposed to keep an eye on who comes. So, I figured I'd watch from here."

She seems to buy it, turning back to the screens as she yawns widely, and we both watch in silence for a while.

The monitors rotate between images, but I catch Tris often enough to see where she goes. She and her mother talk with some of the other families, and for a moment, it looks like Tris is about to get into a fight with whoever is here from Will's family – his sister, I suspect. That's not really a surprise, given the tension between Erudite and Abnegation.

Natalie drags her daughter away to prevent the fight, and I watch as they head into a hallway that's well hidden from the Pit. That's strange. I know for a fact that that particular hallway is rarely used, and only by those of us who have lived here for a while.

The two of them pass by the first two cameras in the hallway, but they must stop in the blind spot before the third one, because they completely disappear from the surveillance. I wait for them to reappear, but as time drags by, two things gradually become clear.

First, Tris' mother grew up in Dauntless. Second, she's talking to her daughter about something she doesn't want observed. Obviously, there's more to Natalie than I thought.

It's not enough to convince me that I should tell her about Erudite's plans, but it is enough to make me want to talk to her more, to help me decide. I say bye to Amy and head down to the Pit, watching the entrance to the hallway where they were talking. Eventually, Tris emerges alone. I wait longer, but Natalie doesn't come into sight, and when I finally walk down the hallway to find her, she's nowhere along it.

She must have left the compound while I was walking down from the control room, or she took another exit…. Frustration and relief war within me, fueled by the anxiety of spending all day trying to figure out what to say, only to be deprived of the opportunity to even try.

Maybe it's just as well. It would almost certainly have been a mistake to entrust information like this to someone I don't know. And it would have been absurdly dangerous to reveal it within the Dauntless compound, no matter how quiet a spot I might find.

There's still time, I tell myself. I'll just have to find another way to warn them.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this is a short chapter, but hopefully it will tide you over until I can get the next one ready. Please take a moment to let me know what you thought of it. Also, please check out my new "Prior Rings" story if you haven't seen it yet. Thanks!


	15. Divergent Chapter 16 – Rank and Eye

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the reviews you've left so far! Your support really means a lot and always cheers me up if I'm having a rotten day. Thank you also to my wonderful beta reader, Rosalie!

**"** **Divergent" Chapter 16 – Rank and Eye**

I spend the rest of the afternoon shooting, hiding from Visiting Day the way I usually do. My aim has gotten so good at this point that I have to come up with new ways to challenge myself, so I use some of the ideas that Amar shared with me before his death.

Dragging dummies and boards around the room, I set up an obstacle course, and then I race through it, rolling on the floor and firing around whatever is in my way as I rise. When I evaluate the targets afterwards, I can't help grinning. I hit the bulls-eye with every shot.

I wish Amar were alive to see it.

Zeke wanders in after a while, bored now that he's finished his family get-together. We rearrange the course and go through it as a two-person team, and then as opposite sides in a mock battle. He makes a face at me when I beat him by a wide margin.

"You know I'll get you back, right?" he declares, but it's hard to take him seriously when he's still grinning from all the excitement and adrenaline. Not that it's ever easy to take Zeke seriously.

"You wish," I answer levelly. "I'm wise to your ceiling feather ways."

He laughs. "That's going to be the best prank _ever_. It's all set up for our next free day, and the best thing is Shauna has absolutely no idea."

I don't comment on that. He could be right, since I haven't told her, but it's also possible that word filtered through Uriah to Lynn to Shauna, and she's got some counter-move planned. Either way, it promises to be far more entertaining if I don't warn either of them….

"I'm looking forward to it," I say with a smirk as I start putting the room back in its normal condition. "But right now, I'd rather eat."

"Yeah," Zeke responds, grabbing one of the dummies and shoving it carelessly back in the corner, "I could definitely use some food."

By the time the room has been taken care of, we're late for dinner, and Shauna looks somewhat annoyed when we join her.

"Sorry," Zeke murmurs, giving her an affectionate kiss on the cheek. For a moment, I envy him the ability to do that, particularly since the person _I'd_ like to greet that way happens to be sitting behind me. But I push the feelings away. Even if Tris wanted me like that, which I know she doesn't, it's a moot point during initiation. I'm still her instructor.

Despite that, her proximity makes my skin tingle, and I have to resist leaning back to be closer to her. I don't think she even knows I'm sitting there, but her presence certainly distracts _me_ , particularly when snatches of her conversation with her friends mix in with what Shauna and Zeke are saying.

"You weren't allowed to have _pets_?" Christina asks someone as Shauna complains, "A convoy of _twelve_ Amity trucks came through today. It took us forever to process them."

There are responses in both conversations, but I don't really catch either. I'm too busy thinking about what the Amity were delivering in that quantity, and to whom.

The encrypted war messages didn't give a date for the attack, but I had the impression it's planned for sometime after initiation is done. And that makes sense – Dauntless would want this year's new members to be in place before they start a war. But if that's true, it's a little early for Erudite to be stocking up on food.

"I had a bulldog named Chunker," Christina says, her tone highly amused as she launches into a story about it eating an entire roasted chicken.

"And then one of them bumped into Marcia, and she accidentally shot a tire out, and we had to change it," Shauna says, her voice tired and irritated. Zeke rubs her shoulders sympathetically.

Maybe it's part of Erudite's ongoing media campaign. They could be getting Amity to send their entire month's food supply to a warehouse somewhere, so they can accuse the Abnegation of giving it to the factionless, or of hoarding it for themselves.

"Where were the trucks coming from?" I finally ask Shauna, keeping my voice as casual as I can while also speaking quietly enough not to be overheard.

She blinks, looking surprised by the question. "I don't know," she admits. "We just had to inspect them." Her eyes narrow at me as she adds, "Why? Is it important?"

"No. Just curious." I shrug, trying to look like I asked out of boredom. There's no point in making Shauna suspicious.

After a second, I give her a wry smile and add, "It seems like a lousy way to spend Visiting Day."

"Yeah, no kidding!" she exclaims, immediately going into a rant about everything she had wanted to do today with Lynn and their family. That, in turn, gets Zeke started on how his day with Uriah and their mother went.

I listen in and out, catching parts of Tris' conversation too.

"How did you get Dauntless without using the knife?" Will asks, drawing my attention abruptly. They're talking about the aptitude test, and that's rarely a good idea.

"I didn't," Tris answers levelly. "I got Abnegation."

It takes everything in me not to turn and stare at her in response to that statement. There is no way that Tris doesn't have an aptitude for Dauntless – she is far too brave. So, either she's lying, or she's Divergent, and her test results are as fake as mine.

Sweat breaks out on the back of my neck, and I rub at it fretfully as I think of how Amar was murdered for being Divergent. How easily Uriah could be killed during initiation. How much danger I'm in every day. _I don't want any of that for Tris._

Maybe I shouldn't have had her fight Molly. If she's Divergent, she'd be safer among the factionless.

I'm vaguely aware that Christina is questioning Tris. "But you chose Dauntless anyway? Why?"

"I told you," Tris answers in her usual calm tone. "It was the food." I think back to her first meal here, when she subtly redirected the conversation with that statement, and it strikes me _hard_ just how smart she is. Way too smart for Dauntless.

_Of course_ she's Divergent – she's too brave and selfless and smart not to be. Part of me has known that from the beginning. Realistically, it's probably a lot of why I'm attracted to her. But it's also a complication I don't need with a war on the way.

"You okay, Four?" Zeke asks, and I look up to see concern on his face. I don't know what my expression is showing, but obviously it's not good, and that means I have to get myself under control. Uriah and Tris' lives are both on the line now, so I can't screw up. At all.

"I'm fine," I say in my most level instructor tone. "I just realized I'd better go write up the rankings." Zeke and Shauna nod as I stand up, taking my tray with me.

"See you later," I mutter, not listening to their responses as I dump my leftovers and make my way from the room.

I wonder if this is what Natalie and Tris talked about today.

* * *

The transfers' dorm looks exactly like it did when I slept here two years ago. I think of Amar while I stand with the blackboard leaning against my legs, keeping its writing hidden as I wait for the initiates to arrive. He stood like this as he waited for us what feels like an eternity ago. He stood like this last year, too, I'm sure, though I wasn't here that day. Maybe I would have been if I'd realized how few times I'd see him after that.

I wonder if Tris will think of me on this day sometime in the future, if she makes it through and I'm killed. Hopefully, she won't still hate me then.

Peter is the first to arrive, with Molly and Drew walking with him. They try to act nonchalant, but they can't keep their eyes off the board, as if they think they can read what's on the other side of it if they stare hard enough.

"Did we make it?" Drew finally asks.

I arch an eyebrow at him as I answer. "You don't seriously think I'm going to tell you that, do you?" He gives a nervous laugh before turning back to his friends, wringing his hands anxiously. The truth is, I don't know if he'll be cut or not. The leaders haven't given me their decisions yet, and he's in the danger zone.

Edward and Myra wander in, migrating toward the board as well. There's an odd sense of tension between him and Peter, but they don't acknowledge it openly, so I don't either.

"How are the rankings determined?" Edward asks, showing the first trace of Erudite curiosity I've seen in him so far. I don't want to go into the details yet – not until everyone is here – but I give him a high-level overview while we wait.

Al lumbers in next, and I see Will emerge from behind him. That means the others are presumably here as well, but I wait until I see Tris just to make sure. There are parts of this explanation that I want her in particular to hear.

"For those of you who just came in," I say loudly, and all conversation stops, "I'm explaining how the ranks are determined. After the first round of fights, we ranked you according to your skill level. The number of points you earn depends on your skill level and the skill level of the person you beat. You earn more points for improving and more points for beating someone of a high skill level. I don't reward preying on the weak. That is cowardice." I can't help looking at Peter as I say the last part, trying not to picture how Tris looked after their fight.

"If you have a high rank," I continue, "you lose points for losing to a low-ranked opponent." Molly grumbles at that, clearly realizing that her bout with Tris cost her.

"Stage two of training is weighted more heavily than stage one," I say, looking at Tris, "because it is more closely tied to overcoming cowardice. That said, it is extremely difficult to rank high at the end of initiation if you rank low in stage one." If Tris really is Divergent, she'll need to play stage two carefully – improving her rank enough to make it into Dauntless without drawing dangerous attention to herself. Hopefully, she understands that, either from my cryptic warning or from her conversation with her mother today.

And maybe she does, because she's shifting around nervously. For a moment, her eyes meet mine, but then she looks away. At least she doesn't look as angry as she has the last few times she's met my gaze.

"We will announce the cuts tomorrow," I tell the whole group. "The fact that you are transfers and the Dauntless-born initiates are not will not be taken into consideration. Four of you could be factionless and none of them. Or four of them could be factionless and none of you. Or any combination thereof." It's the usual spiel, and I deliver it evenly despite the fact I know it's not entirely true.

"That said," I finally conclude, "here are your ranks." They watch anxiously as I turn the board around and hang it on the wall.

1\. Edward

2\. Peter

3\. Will

4\. Christina

5\. Molly

6\. Tris

7\. Drew

8\. Al

9\. Myra

At first, the room is silent, with just nervous breathing and little twitching noises filling the air. And then Molly exclaims loudly, "What?" She points at Christina accusingly. "I beat her! I beat her in _minutes_ , and she's ranked _above_ me?"

"Yeah?" Christina responds with admirable equanimity. "And?"

Molly looks like she's about to attack, so I decide to interrupt. "If you intend to secure yourself a high rank," I snarl, "I suggest you don't make a habit of losing to low-ranked opponents."

For a second, she stares at me in fury, but then she turns away, bitterness mixing in with the anger in her expression. It's not a good combination, and I can't help but worry about how she'll treat Tris after this, but at the same time I know that Tris is tougher than Molly is. Tougher and smarter. She'll be okay.

I stuff the chalk into my pocket and walk out, careful not to look at Tris as I pass her. It wouldn't be good for the others to see me watching her too much right now.

* * *

"He's _handsome_." The words drift through my dreams until they wake me, and I find myself sitting up in bed, blinking sleep from my eyes. Natalie wouldn't have said that if she didn't suspect Tris was thinking it. But who were they talking about? They were right behind me, and they were looking at me when I peered over my shoulder, but they could have meant someone else.

I drag a hand down my face. I'm being foolish – it must have been someone else. There's no way Tris likes me. Even if she did at first, she wouldn't anymore, not after I threw those knives. She made it quite clear she hates me for that.

But the Abnegation tend to forgive…. I get up, pacing around my room as I picture the blush on Tris' face when I told her mother she shouldn't worry. There was no reason for her to react that way, unless she was thinking about something else. Something she didn't want me to sense.

_Does Tris think I'm handsome?_

I nearly jump out of my skin when someone knocks on the door – loudly. It's the middle of the night.

"Four!" a voice yells, and I grab my discarded clothes, pulling them on quickly before I open the door.

Uriah is standing there, looking disheveled and upset. "Something happened with the transfers," he says quickly. "There are a bunch of people yelling, and someone went to get help from the infirmary." My mind instantly goes to Molly's reaction earlier, and a blaze of sheer panic goes through me. _If she hurt Tris…._

"I thought you should know," Uriah adds, but I'm already racing toward the transfers' dormitory. My heart is pounding wildly, and I'm running so fast I out-distance Uriah within a minute. _Please be okay._

When I reach the hallway, people are pressed to either side as two large men carry a stretcher between them. Myra is following them, sobbing, and it doesn't take long to figure out why. Edward lies on the stretcher with blood covering his face. It's streaming from his eye…which has a butter knife sticking out from it.

A sick feeling twists through my stomach as I come to a halt, staring. I didn't expect this….

* * *

"You don't have to leave, you know," I tell Edward heavily. He's sitting on a bed in the infirmary, his head still bandaged though I know the eye socket has been stitched closed at this point. "You can get through the rest of initiation with one eye."

The words sound cruel – too blunt – but there's no point tiptoeing around the subject. He'll always be missing an eye, but he only has tonight to decide if he'll be factionless for the rest of his life.

He shrugs. "Honestly, I'm not feeling too great about Dauntless right now." He pauses, looking over to where Myra is waiting on the other side of the room, giving us privacy to talk. "Besides, Myra's out anyway, isn't she?" he asks quietly.

"Yes," I say flatly. I still don't have the official answer, but I know it's true anyway, and he deserves accurate information.

"Then, I'm going with her."

I consider him for a moment, debating whether or not to argue further. It doesn't seem likely that he and his girlfriend will be together much longer. They're teenagers with an infatuation, not people who are truly in love. That's obvious in everything about them. But at the same time, Dauntless is a dangerous place to have limited vision. And with the war coming, it's hard to say whether Edward would be better off here or among the factionless.

"I understand," I tell him calmly, deciding to let him go. He offers his hand, and I shake it in farewell before making my way from the room. Now, I just have to tell Max.

I decide to stop by the control room on the way, hoping to figure out who stabbed Edward and why. Jeff is on duty, and he looks at me without surprise.

"I was wondering how long it would take you to show up," he comments casually, as if he didn't just see a sixteen-year-old lose an eye. But it's late, and I'm tired, and I don't feel like getting into a discussion on what should and shouldn't shock people in this faction.

"Any video of it?" I simply ask.

"Kind of. It was too dark to see much, but you can tell it was two people." He reaches over and keys some commands, and we both watch as the video comes on. At first, it's difficult to make anything out, but gradually, some motion appears, and I'm able to tell that I'm looking at the transfers' dormitory with no lights on. Stupidly, my eyes move to Tris' bunk, checking that she's okay, but I force my gaze back to the movement.

Jeff is right – there are obviously two attackers, but the visibility is too poor to identify them with certainty. I watch the footage a few times, including the earlier timeframe, in an attempt to see which bunks they came from. In the end, I'm personally sure it was Peter and Drew, but I can't prove it. Not enough to get the leaders to do anything, even if they were inclined to step in, which might or might not be the case. For all I know, they'll consider the attack to be the kind of initiative they want in this faction.

* * *

"I already know," Max grunts when he answers his door. He's fully dressed, and while he looks tired and grumpy, he doesn't look like he just crawled out of bed.

"We met and revised the cuts," he adds. For a moment, I don't know what he's talking about, since the words seem so disconnected from butter knives and bleeding eyes, but then I understand. The leaders' biggest concern is how Edward's departure affects the rankings.

"We want to keep two cuts from each group, so we're considering Edward and Myra to be the two from the transfers. Your other bottom-feeder can stay for another few weeks."

I manage not to show my disgust at the use of that term, as if the initiates aren't even human.

"What about punishment?" I ask, even though I already know the answer. "I'm pretty sure the attackers were Peter and Drew."

Max laughs. "Yes, that was clear," he comments, his tone conveying a sick sort of amusement. "I gather that Peter insulted Edward's girlfriend earlier in the day, and the two of them ended up in a fight. Peter lost rather badly. I guess this was his revenge." He shrugs as if this is just one of those things. _Boys will be boys, after all._

"Are we doing anything about that?" I ask, trying to keep my voice even, but of course I already know this answer too.

"What's there to do?" Max asks coldly, as if I just challenged him. "If Peter's the coward you think he is, he'll wash out soon enough." He shrugs again. "And in the meantime, we don't want the initiates thinking that we'll take out anyone who gives them a _boo-boo."_ He pauses, giving me a hard look. "This is Dauntless. They need to fight their own battles."

I don't answer. The leadership has made its stance clear, and all I can do now is try to keep my remaining initiates alive.

__

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please take a moment to review this chapter. Your reviews motivate me to keep writing even when things are crazy busy, as they seem to perpetually be this year... Thanks!


	16. During Divergent Chapter 17 – Zip-Lining Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who has reviewed, favorited, and/or followed this story! You make my day. And thank you to my wonderful beta reader, Rosalie!

**During "Divergent" Chapter 17 – Zip-Lining Day**

There's no training today, so when I finish talking to Max, I stumble back to my apartment and fall into bed again. My mind is still racing, but somehow I manage to fall asleep anyway. I suppose I can "thank" my father for that – after a lifetime of living in dread, my body knows how to succumb to exhaustion for a few hours no matter how much my brain resists.

By the time I wake up again, it's afternoon. I'm groggy, and my head hurts, and suddenly I have no desire to talk to the initiates about what happened. What would I say? _The faction of the brave is letting Peter and Drew get away with anything, so good luck living with them?_

Instead, I wander through the Pit, my feet finding their way automatically to my spot at the bottom of the chasm. But it doesn't take me long to realize I have no desire to be alone. I need to get away from my thoughts.

Unfortunately, that proves to be difficult. Zeke and Shauna are nowhere to be found, and when I finally go looking for Uriah, I can't locate him either. In fact, it's hard to spot _any_ of the Dauntless-born initiates, and there aren't as many members as usual around either.

I guess that should have tipped me off, but I'm still tired and focused on Edward, so it's not until I hear the words "zip-lining" as I pass a small group that I realize where everyone is. _Of course._ How could I forget the day everyone celebrates one of my greatest fears?

And that means there's really nothing for me to do right now, particularly since my head is aching too much for me to go shooting or punching bags.

So, I wander, walking the high paths to let the fear keep me from thinking about anything else. I don't quite realize that I'm looking for Tris until I end up in the control room, scanning the monitors for her while Amy tries to act awake at the controls.

But Tris seems to have disappeared, too, and that worries me. Transfers aren't invited to zip-lining, so she should be here somewhere. _Molly had better not have done anything to her._

"What are you doing here today, anyway?" Amy finally asks, sounding half-asleep. She really should have picked a job with more physical activity – every time I see her on duty, it's obvious she can barely keep her eyes open. Still, she's not nosy, which makes it easier to get a little information without making her suspicious.

"I'm trying to watch the transfers to make sure another eyeball doesn't go missing."

"Mmm," she mutters noncommittally. "That was pretty nasty."

"Yeah. That's the word." Not, you know, homicidal or psychotic, or anything like that. Apparently, Dauntless doesn't know how to recognize that particular difference.

Amy looks at me, pursing her lips a bit. "I think one of the transfers went zip-lining with the others," she says thoughtfully, clearly oblivious to my sarcasm. She types some commands on the nearest computer, retrieving footage from a couple of hours ago.

"Here we go. This is one of yours, right?"

I look at the monitor and see Tris running with Uriah, clearly heading out of the building with a group of excited Dauntless, and a new weight drops through me. It's not that I mind her going. It will make her look more Dauntless, and that can only help her chances in initiation. But why did she have to go with _Uriah_? Even as they're running, I can see the way he turns to look at her periodically, his attraction obvious on his face. It makes me clench my hands automatically.

"That's one of the transfers, isn't it?" Amy asks, looking confused by my reaction.

"Yes," I answer shortly. Then, feeling the need to cover, I add gruffly, "Clearly, I need to talk to her about staying in the compound."

Unexpectedly, Amy smiles. "Oh, come on, Four, the girl's got to have a little fun. Besides, she's with plenty of members, so it's not against the rules."

This time, it's my turn to grunt noncommittally as I turn away. Amy laughs at my retreating back, but I don't bother answering her. Apparently, I need to find something else to do today.

* * *

What I find certainly isn't what I wanted. A man dressed in Erudite blue is talking with some of the initiates, and my gut wrenches unpleasantly as I realize he's a reporter. He's undoubtedly trying to get information for another article bashing the Abnegation leadership, and that means he's here after Tris. It's a good thing she left for the day. I'd hate for her to be the subject of an article like the one they wrote about me – or more precisely, about how Marcus beat me.

"You are so full of it!" Christina shouts suddenly, glaring at the man like she wants to kill him. "Everyone knows those articles are all lies!"

"Hmm, and here I thought I was in Dauntless," the man replies caustically, "not Candor." He arches a scornful eyebrow at her. "Which faction are you loyal to, exactly?"

Christina launches herself at him furiously, her arm cocked to throw a punch, and I can't help but smile. I have no fondness for the Erudite these days. Still, it's probably just as well that Will intervenes, grabbing Christina's arm and hauling her away from the intruder.

"Calm down," he hisses at her.

For a moment, she just glares at him. Then, she huffs, "Fine. I have more important things to do anyway." Turning a withering gaze on the Erudite man, she adds, "I would think _you_ do, too." And then she marches away, her back straight and her entire body radiating anger.

Will gives his former faction-mate a brief shrug before heading after his friend, Al lumbering behind him like an enormous bear. I take the opportunity to leave, too, sliding away before the reporter can spot me and try to ask about Marcus. I don't know for certain how they found out he abused me all those years, but given how accurate that article was, it's a good guess that someone leaked my fear landscape to the Erudite. Probably Eric.

Regardless, they'd undoubtedly love an actual interview with me – some chance to get juicy quotes for another article bashing my dear old dad…. As much as I hate him, I certainly have no desire to receive that kind of attention. The first article was bad enough, and that was with very few people realizing it was about me. I never did tell Zeke if it was true or not.

I rub the back of my neck as I walk the long hallway to my apartment. Sooner or later, they're bound to write something similar about Tris and her family. I just hope that one won't be true.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter is so short. I'm back from vacation now but am seriously behind in my writing and am trying to catch up on everything else in life too, which makes it even harder to find time to write. I'm trying, though... I'm also updating my "Prior Rings" story along with this one, so please check that story out if you haven't already. That said, please take a moment to let me know what you thought of this chapter. Reviews are my best motivator, and I could really use the motivation right now. Thanks!


	17. Divergent Chapter 18 – Simulations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who reviewed the last chapter! You made my day. :-) Thank you also to my fantastic beta reader, Rosalie!

**"** **Divergent" Chapter 18 – Simulations**

The simulations will be rough this year. Last initiation, Amar and I alternated days, dividing the burden between us, but there's no one to do that with this time. I don't know how much to trust Lauren with potential Divergents, and I certainly don't want Eric anywhere near them. So, I volunteered to do it alone.

Theoretically, it should be easier for me than for most people, since I only have four fears; that makes it less likely that any given simulation will bother me directly. But honestly, it's not the fears themselves that make this stage so bad for an instructor. Some of those are almost funny when viewed from the outside. No, what makes it so difficult is sitting there watching initiate after initiate struggle and panic and deal with their personal hell for an agonizingly long time. They face one fear each, but I have to see all eighteen.

And I'm not allowed to help them.

"Have a seat," I tell the transfers, gesturing toward the floor of the hallway where the Dauntless-born are already waiting. "I'll be taking you back one at a time for this stage of initiation, so you'll be here for a while."

Most of them follow my suggestion, looking warily at the other initiates, though Peter leans against the wall and defiantly crosses his arms over his chest. I manage to avoid rolling my eyes at him.

"What do we do in this stage?" he asks challengingly.

"That sounds like a question someone afraid of the unknown would ask," I respond coldly, raising a condescending eyebrow at him. He flushes very slightly before looking away.

Casting my gaze around the group, I continue. "From now on, you will all be trained together."

"Does that mean we'll be ranked together?" Molly interrupts, her voice aggressive, and I have to resist the urge to intimidate her in some manner. I don't like being interrupted.

"Yes," I answer briefly, letting my irritation show. "There are no cuts at the end of stage two, but your scores in this stage will count toward your final ranking, which will include both Dauntless-born and transfers."

I glance around the group again, trying to keep my eyes from resting just on Tris. " _Anyway_ ," I continue, "as I have already mentioned to the transfers, stage two is primarily about emotional control. It is weighted more heavily than stage one, because it is more closely tied to overcoming cowardice. Stage three is primarily about mental control and is weighted most heavily of all."

Some of the Dauntless-born nod, and I suspect they've been told what happens in this stage. But it doesn't matter that they were warned – there's not much they can do to prepare anyway.

"You will wait here until you are called in," I comment flatly, looking around one more time. Most of them don't meet my gaze, not even Uriah, though Tris does. She looks at me solidly, her expression unreadable. At least it's not filled with hate anymore.

Turning my back on them, I head into the room to get the equipment ready. It'll be tricky to do this right, particularly when it comes to connecting the interceptor I rigged up – it has to be placed carefully so I can activate it without being seen by the cameras that monitor this room. If it works, it will let me block a simulation from being saved, making it look like the computer simply glitched. That's easier and less suspicious than deleting a file afterwards.

But just in case, I quietly made sure that Zeke was on duty in the control room today. We've never discussed Divergence, or my suspicions about his brother, but if anything goes wrong, I'd rather he see it than anyone else.

When everything is ready, I call Lynn in. She does her best to look unafraid as she enters the room, walking in her typical cocky manner. But I know it's an act – an attempt to change how others view her, the same way her decision to shave her head was.

"You'll be entering a simulation," I tell her, not unkindly, "that is created from your own mind. It will allow you to face one of your fears directly. You will stay in it until your heart rate and breathing both slow down."

She nods, trembling very slightly as she settles into the chair and lets me give her the injection. It doesn't surprise me that she asks no questions – Lynn has never been much for those.

"Be brave," I tell her, as I always say to every initiate, and then I hook myself up to the wires.

We're in the middle of a church, with people in formal attire seated on either side of the aisle. Lynn stands there in a wedding gown, surrounded by her family, who all look overjoyed. She doesn't, though. She looks confused, and I can see the beginnings of fear in her face as she looks down at her dress and then at the groom waiting by the altar.

I haven't seen him before, but there's nothing obviously frightening about him. He's young and classically handsome the way Uriah is, and he looks delighted to be marrying Lynn. But she's still staring at him, horror now showing in her expression. Is he someone who hurt her in the past?

"I…I can't marry him," Lynn says suddenly, panic clear in her voice. "I don't love him."

"You have to," her mother says firmly, her voice cold. "He's the only man who will have someone like _you_."

"No!" Lynn responds angrily. "I won't!" She looks around, the panic clearly getting stronger. "I won't marry anyone. _Anyone._ "

Her mother's face twists, loathing and revulsion suddenly filling it as she hisses fiercely, "I will _not_ allow a daughter of mine to live the way _you_ want. It's unnatural."

"Disgusting," Shauna adds, her expression mirroring her mother's.

Marlene appears, and Lynn's eyes go to her and stay there. In that moment, I see the love and longing she feels for her friend, and I understand this fear.

But Marlene's expression matches the others', and her fingers clutch Uriah's arm as she laughs scornfully at Lynn. "Did you seriously think _I_ would want you? Why would I want someone as _ugly_ as you? Why would _any_ woman ever want you?"

Lynn's face crumples, and that seems to signal everyone around her to dig in deeper, their hateful voices and words filling the air as Lynn tries to ward them off. I sigh, feeling unexpectedly sympathetic. It's difficult enough to be a sixteen-year-old in Dauntless, without having to deal with liking a gender you're not supposed to.

For a moment, I wonder how hard it was for Amar to be in that situation, but the thought just reminds me to focus on Lynn's simulation again. It's important to pay attention the way he taught me to.

It feels like a long time before she gets her heart rate and breathing to the point they need to be, and the simulation ends. But when I check the clock, I realize she did better than average. That shouldn't surprise me; Lynn has always been strong and brave.

Still, she's crying as she wakes up, and she covers her face to hide the tears – or perhaps to avoid looking at me.

"You did well," I tell her plainly. "Your time was good, and the first day is always the hardest, so I imagine you'll do even better next time."

She uncovers her face enough to look at me, staring oddly, and I realize this is probably the only time she's ever heard me say something encouraging. It's not exactly a daily routine for me, though I do try to be kinder in this room than I usually am.

"You won't tell Shauna, will you?" she finally asks, her voice shaky.

"No," I answer, keeping my tone calm and neutral. "The simulations are sent to the Dauntless administrators, but they're otherwise kept very private. I don't reveal them to anyone."

She nods a little, swallowing hard before swinging her legs over the side of the chair. She's clearly still unsteady, the after-effects of the simulation affecting her movements, but she gets up anyway, squaring her shoulders and lifting her chin in determination as she faces me.

"You'd better not," she says with false bravado. "Or…" but her voice falters off, and it's obvious she can't come up with anything to finish that sentence.

"I won't," I tell her levelly, meeting her gaze and holding it for a moment to make sure she believes me. When it's clear she does, I gesture toward the back door with my chin. "Go out the back. The others aren't supposed to see anyone exiting."

She nods, swallowing again but clearly relieved that she won't have to face the rest of the group right now. And then she's out the door. One down, seventeen to go.

* * *

It's a _very_ long day, filled with both common and unusual fears.

Peter is attacked by cigarettes that burn holes into his body over and over until they almost kill him. He eventually feigns death in an apparent attempt to fool them, and as he forces his heartbeat and breathing to slow down, he effectively ends the simulation in very good time.

Christina is completely hidden by a swarm of moths that work their way into her eyes and mouth and nose and ears as she screams over and over until I almost disconnect myself just to escape the noise.

Will is burned away by a shower of acid that eats first through his clothing and then his skin and then each layer beneath that the way only an Erudite could imagine. By the time bone is showing through the shreds of his remaining muscles, I can no longer watch the gruesome spectacle.

Al sobs as person after person abandons him, calling him pathetic, until he ends up alone and factionless, starving on the streets.

Marlene is buried alive, and I have to fight my own claustrophobia as she tries and tries to dig herself out through the dirt filling her mouth and throat and weighing her body down.

Eventually, the fears begin to blend together, and it becomes difficult to remember who suffered through each one.

When I open the door this time, there are only three people left in the hallway: Tris, Uriah, and Drew. I've deliberately held the two I suspect are Divergent until the end, so I can spend extra time with them if needed, and so it will look more realistic if the computer suddenly fails to record their simulations. However, when I look out, I notice Uriah flashing a smile at Tris, and suddenly I don't want to leave them alone in the corridor for the half-hour Drew is likely to take.

"Come on, Tris," I say, beckoning to her.

She stands, pressing against her lower back to stretch it, and I watch as her upper body arches with the movement. Something stirs inside me at the sight, and I shift a little, feeling like my clothing is too tight around me.

I'm still watching as she walks past Drew, and he childishly sticks out a foot to trip her. My hands form into fists automatically, and I'm not sure if I'm glad or even more annoyed when I realize that Uriah's have done the same thing. Either way, I immediately release mine, hiding my anger, while Tris hops over Drew's foot as if he's not even there. As if he's nothing. She's right.

When she reaches me, my fingers go to her shoulder automatically, as if I always do that, as if I'm guiding her into the room, when in reality I've never done that with another initiate. If I'm honest, I'm probably trying to claim her as mine as I take her away from Uriah's gaze. It's stupid, and I know it, but I do it anyway.

I force myself to let go as we enter the room, and I shut the door behind us. But before I can say anything, Tris recoils abruptly, her shoulders bumping into my chest. Instinctively, my hands close around her arms, holding her against me as I look to see what startled her, but it's just the equipment in the room. I suppose it does look intimidating.

For several long seconds, we both stand there. I'm breathing in her scent while she's staring around the room. I can't help but notice that despite how angry she's been with me, she's obviously taking comfort in being near me right now. It makes me feel a little warmer inside.

"Sit," I finally say, collecting myself and giving her arms a squeeze. It's time for business.

"What's the simulation?" she asks, her voice a little shaky.

"Ever hear the phrase 'face your fears'? We're taking that literally. The simulation will teach you to control your emotions in the midst of a frightening situation."

She wipes her forehead before making her way slowly to the reclining metal chair. It's obvious she wants nothing to do with this, but she sits anyway, pressing her head against the headrest.

"Do you ever administer the aptitude tests?" she asks, surprising me.

"No. I avoid Stiffs as much as possible." I regret the words the moment they leave my mouth. They give away a lot more than I intended, since almost no one would bother avoiding the Abnegation.

"Why?" she asks, obviously catching my mistake, and I flounder for a response. But everything I can think of will just make her more likely to figure out who I am. So, I do what I always do when I'm desperate – I deflect.

"Do you ask me that because you think I'll actually answer?" I keep my voice cold, knowing that people typically shrink from that tone.

I should know by now that Tris isn't typical.

"Why do you say vague things if you don't want to be asked about them?" she responds without missing a beat. The question tugs a smile out of me, but I don't let her see it. Instead, I choose not to answer, letting silence fall as I pull a new needle out of the drawer and get everything ready for the simulation.

I move her hair out of the way of the injection site, my fingers brushing lightly along her neck. It's difficult not to linger, enjoying the feel of her smooth skin against my fingertips, but I pull away when her body tenses. Clearly, she hasn't entirely forgiven me for throwing the knives. I manage to avoid sighing as I turn back to the syringe, filling it with serum and tapping to remove any air bubbles.

"An injection?" she asks, looking warily at the long needle. Every now and then, one of the initiates has a fear of shots, and each simulation ends up being a double fear, but Tris just shows the normal level of trepidation.

"We use a more advanced version of the simulation here," I explain, keeping my voice level to calm her. "A different serum. No wires or electrodes for you."

"How does it work without wires?" she asks immediately, her curiosity lighting up again. I'll be amazed if she's not Divergent.

"Well, _I_ have wires, so I can see what's going on. But for you, there's a tiny transmitter in the serum that sends data to the computer."

I turn her arm over to create the right pull on her neck, exposing the spot I need, and I inject the serum as gently as I can. She winces despite my care, but she doesn't turn away. Instead, she maintains eye contact, and as I did earlier, I get the feeling that she's taking comfort from my presence. It's hard not to smile.

"The serum will go into effect in sixty seconds," I tell her. I rarely give the full scientific explanation, but I suspect it will benefit her, so I launch into it. "This simulation is different from the aptitude test. In addition to containing the transmitter, the serum stimulates the amygdala, which is the part of the brain involved in processing negative emotions – like fear – and then induces a hallucination. The brain's electrical activity is then transmitted to our computer, which then translates your hallucination into a simulated image that I can see and monitor. I will then forward the recording to Dauntless administrators." _Unless you show signs of Divergence._

"You stay in the hallucination until you calm down," I add, wanting to make sure she knows the proper way to exit from the simulation without raising suspicion. "That is, lower your heart rate and control your breathing." I can tell she understands, but then her eyes start to dart around, and sweat beads on her forehead, and I know the serum is taking effect.

I place my hands on the chair on either side of her head, leaning close and looking directly at her to get her attention.

"Be brave, Tris," I whisper. "The first time is always the hardest."

* * *

I've never watched someone I care about fight a fear, and as I connect myself to the equipment, I realize the prospect makes me nervous. There are so many things I don't want to see happen – ranging from her showing Divergence or being mistreated by her family to her caring about someone else. And even if she were to somehow show the one thing I'd like – an interest in me – it would be a terrible invasion of her privacy for me to view that here.

But I have to watch. It's part of the job, and it's the only way I'll know if there's something to hide from the Dauntless leaders. So, I connect myself the same way I always do, and I wait for fear to overtake the most fearless person I know.

The simulation starts in a field of tall, dry grass. Tris stands in the midst of it, the lower half of her body hidden by the brown blades as she sniffs the air. It smells of smoke, and I look around, expecting this to be a fear of fire. But if so, there's no sign of it yet. Instead, Tris seems to focus on the air – a strange, stagnant substance that is neither hot nor cold and hangs there as if it isn't really air at all. It's an unusual level of detail for a simulation.

Gradually, a fluttering, flapping sound emerges, and Tris notices a shadow pass over her head. I see the crow before she does, as it lands on her shoulder. She doesn't look at it, instead shaking her arm hard in an attempt to dislodge whatever is hanging there, and I know immediately that her fear isn't of the bird itself. If it were, she would need to see it before reacting.

The crows holds its position, and Tris bats at it blindly before biting her lip and finally moving her eyes to see. She evaluates it evenly before hitting it again, but it still refuses to move. With a cry of frustration, Tris tries again, with both hands this time, still with no success.

A rumbling sound fills the air, and the sky darkens, and suddenly crows are everywhere. Their loud cries break the air in a deafening cacophony, and their bodies block the sun as they dive all at once at Tris. I can feel my muscles stiffen, and I breathe hard to calm myself as I watch Tris struggling to move, to run away, but the simulation seems to have locked her feet in place. That happens occasionally, and I always feel for people when it does – it seems like a particularly vicious form of helplessness to inflict.

Tris is screaming now, though not with the blind panic that filled Christina's simulation earlier. This is a scream of frustration – of wanting to fight back and not being able to do so. This is a Dauntless scream.

She hits at the birds, but there's no way to defend herself against so many of them, and they attack her mercilessly, pecking and biting and clawing and beating at her with their wings. The simulation finally releases the lock on her legs, and she collapses to the ground, sobbing and screaming.

"Help!" she calls, and I feel everything inside me twist with the desire to respond. "Help! Help! Help!" She repeats the word over and over, the desperate sound of someone who knows she is about to die, as the crows continue to rip flesh from her body. _I don't want to watch this. I don't._ But I can't look away, either. I'm as frozen as she was, held in place by her fear.

My eyes are still glued to her when she suddenly stops fighting. I don't understand why, or even how she's able to do this, but she forces her body to relax, forces her breathing to slow, forces her heart rate to lessen. It's like when Peter played dead earlier today, and perhaps that's why she's doing it. There's no other clear reason.

The simulation ends, and for a single long second, I debate whether to let it save to the computer or press the interceptor to block it. She didn't show any blatant signs of Divergence, but it's suspicious that she was able to calm herself like that. That seems like the act of someone who knew she was in a simulation and was specifically trying to exit from it….

But it's suspicious to delete simulations, too. That always makes the leaders look more closely, and this wasn't a severe enough breech to warrant that risk, so I let the second pass without interfering. Instead, I turn my attention to Tris as she opens her eyes. She immediately screams, batting wildly at her arms and head and legs to brush off the birds she obviously still feels on her. The sight rips at my insides again, and I begin rapidly disconnecting myself from the equipment so I can move to comfort her.

She moans, pulling her knees to her chest and burying her face in them. It's obvious the fear affected her strongly. Maybe I was wrong; maybe she's not Divergent after all.

I'm finally free of the wires, and I reach out, placing a hand lightly on her shoulder. She lashes out instinctively, hitting me hard in the stomach.

"Don't touch me!" she cries, a sob breaking the words.

"It's over," I tell her gently. She looks so broken, and I hate that _I'm_ the one who did this to her. I'm the one who put her under the simulation and watched, doing _nothing_ when she needed me most.

My hand shifts from her shoulder to her hair, stroking it softly. I'm not entirely sure which of us I'm trying to comfort, but she doesn't move away, so I don't stop.

"Tris."

She rocks back and forth in the metal chair, looking lost and _small_. She shouldn't still be reacting so strongly, and I find myself looking at the computer screen, trying to figure it out. My jaw almost drops when I see the recorded time. She got out of the simulation in _three minutes and two seconds_. I have _never_ seen such a fast time. That must be why she's having a strong aftermath – the serum hasn't had a chance to wear off yet.

"Tris, I'm going to take you back to the dorms, okay?"

"No," she snaps, finally lifting her head. She glares at me despite the tears that still fill her eyes. "They can't see me…not like this…."

"Oh, calm down," I say, rolling my eyes with a mixture of amusement and annoyance. She just got by far the fastest time of the day, and she thinks the others are going to judge her poorly? As if they didn't all react badly to their own fears.

"I'll take you out the back door," I add, trying to pacify her.

"I don't need you to…" she protests, shaking her head. I can see the determination in her, despite how much her entire body is still trembling.

"Nonsense," I state flatly, grabbing her arm and pulling her out of the chair. I keep my hand on her for support as I steer her out the door and down the hallway. At first, she just wipes her face as we walk, not seeming to mind that I'm holding her arm, but that doesn't last long.

She stops abruptly, yanking herself free as she faces me. "Why did you do that to me?" she demands angrily. The guilt stabs through me again. "What was the point of that, huh? I wasn't aware that when I chose Dauntless, I was signing up for weeks of torture!"

I keep my voice calm as I respond. "Did you think overcoming cowardice would be easy?"

"That isn't overcoming cowardice!" she yells. "Cowardice is how you decide to be in real life, and in real life, I am not getting pecked to death by crows, Four!" She presses her hands to her face, sobbing again, and I have no idea how to respond.

_Is she right?_ I've never really liked the simulations, but I've always believed they were important. Now, I have to wonder. What exactly is the purpose of facing a fear like the one she just tackled? Like the ones many of the initiates fought today? They were very different from the types of situations we face in real life. How can they teach someone to be brave?

Before I can figure out how to answer her, Tris speaks again. "I want to go home." It's the first time I've ever heard her sound weak, and it stirs anger in me. Tris is many things, but _weak_ should never be one of them.

My voice is hard when I respond. "Learning how to think in the midst of fear is a lesson that everyone, even your Stiff family, needs to learn. That's what we're trying to teach you. If you can't learn it, you'll need to get the hell out of here, because we won't want you."

She looks up, fury flashing behind her eyes. "I'm _trying_ ," she says forcefully despite the fact that her lower lip is still trembling, "but I failed. I'm failing."

A sigh of frustration comes out of me. This is the problem with Abnegation – we spend a lifetime thinking we're less than everyone around us. Of course she has no idea how unusual she is.

"How long do you think you spent in that hallucination, Tris?"

"I don't know," she answers, shaking her head. "A half hour?"

It's hard not to laugh.

"Three minutes," I tell her simply. She stares, and I add, "You got out three times faster than the other initiates." Three times faster than the _next-fastest_ time. "Whatever you are, you're not a failure."

She shifts back a little, still staring blankly, clearly unable to reconcile that concept with her mental image of what just happened. I find myself smiling slightly.

"Next time you'll be better at this," I reassure her. "You'll see."

The words are debatably helpful. "Next time?" she asks, her voice quavering. Clearly, she thought there was only one simulation.

I don't answer, since there's really nothing I can say to that. Instead, I place a hand lightly on her back, feeling the tingling that I so often notice when I touch her, and I begin moving toward the dormitory again. She walks with me without hesitation. _Trustingly._

"What was your first hallucination?" she asks, surprising me again.

I normally wouldn't even consider answering a question like that, but when her eyes catch mine, I find the response coming out despite myself.

"It wasn't a 'what' so much as a 'who.'" I shrug, trying to downplay the words. "It's not important."

"And are you over that fear now?"

"Not yet." We reach the door of the dormitory, but I don't really want to end this conversation. This is the longest we've talked since we climbed the Ferris wheel, and it gives me hope. So, I lean against the wall, sliding my hands into my pockets to keep them from touching her.

"I may never be," I add, looking into her eyes. They're very blue in this light.

She looks somewhat disappointed. "So they don't go away?"

"Sometimes they do," I reassure her. But I also want to be honest. "And sometimes new fears replace them." My fingers start sliding out of my pockets on their own, so I hook my thumbs through my belt loops to lock my hands in place.

"But becoming fearless isn't the point," I continue. "That's impossible. It's learning how to control your fear, and how to be free from it, _that's_ the point." She nods in understanding, and I add, "Anyway, your fears are rarely what they appear to be in the simulation."

"What do you mean?" she asks quickly.

I smile a little. "Well, are you really afraid of crows? When you see one, do you run away screaming?"

An answering smile tugs at her mouth as she responds. "No. I guess not."

Without warning, she steps closer, leaning against the wall next to me. There's barely six inches of space between us – we're close enough for me to smell her tantalizing scent, and suddenly it's difficult to breathe. She tilts her head to look at me and leans even closer. I'm filled with an almost overwhelming urge to kiss her.

"So what am I really afraid of?" she asks.

"I don't know," I say softly, barely able to think through the fog that's now filling my head. All I can focus on is her. "Only you can know."

She nods slowly as she processes that. After a moment, she says conversationally, "I didn't know becoming Dauntless would be this difficult."

As soon as she says it, she seems to think better of it, and I can see her biting her cheek as she watches me. But something inside me lifts at her admission. She's talking to me – really talking – and I love it.

"It wasn't always like this, I'm told," I say with a shrug. "Being Dauntless, I mean."

"What changed?"

"The leadership. The person who controls training sets the standard of Dauntless behavior. Six years ago Max and the other leaders changed the training methods to make them more competitive and more brutal, said it was supposed to test people's strength. And that changed the priorities of Dauntless as a whole. Bet you can't guess who the leaders' new protégé is."

She looks at me thoughtfully, obviously understanding, but her response surprises me. "So if you were ranked first in your initiate class, what was Eric's rank?"

"Second," I answer without even thinking. Her closeness is too distracting for thought.

"So he was their second choice for leadership," she states matter-of-factly, nodding slowly as she says it. "And you were their first."

For a second, I just stare at her.

"What makes you say that?"

"The way Eric was acting at dinner the first night. Jealous, even though he has what he wants."

Again, I stare. She's right, of course, but it's a startlingly logical conclusion. A very Divergent conclusion.

We're silent for a moment, just standing near each other, before Tris sniffs. She wipes her cheeks one more time, clearing away any remaining moisture, and then smooths her hair carefully.

"Do I look like I've been crying?" she asks, meeting my gaze calmly. It's an invitation to examine her closely, and I can't make myself resist it. Smiling, I lean in, barely three inches from her face, and I narrow my eyes as I pretend to inspect her for traces of tears. _God, she smells good._

I have never been more tempted to kiss someone in my life. It would be so easy to do. All I would have to do is lean just a tiny bit more. But it would be a horrendously bad idea. One that could easily get her kicked out of Dauntless, or even killed. That thought makes me serious again.

"No, Tris," I say firmly, pulling away. And I give her an honest answer. "You look tough as nails."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew, that was a long chapter. The next one will be original - showing Uriah's first fear and how Tobias helped him learn to hide his Divergence. It isn't necessary to have read my "Determinant" story before that, but those of you who have read that story will enjoy the connections between them. Anyway, that chapter will be up fairly soon.
> 
> In the meantime, please take a moment to let me know what you thought of this chapter. I really, really appreciate your reviews! Thanks!


	18. Original Chapter – Uriah

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who reviewed the last chapter! Thank you also to my fantastic beta reader, Rosalie!

**Between "Divergent" Chapters 18 and 19 – Uriah**

If I had any doubt that Drew was involved in attacking Edward, his simulation would have removed it. He sits there, sweating and thrashing as Edward exacts revenge through one torture after another. By the time he reaches the fifth one, I find myself wondering just how messed up Peter is that he was afraid of cigarettes instead of something like this; obviously, he has no conscience to feel guilty.

But as the scenarios continue, it becomes harder and harder to pay attention. When Edward begins removing Drew's eyebrow hairs one at a time, I don't even fight anymore, letting my thoughts drift where they want – to my conversation with Tris.

For the first time since I threw those knives, I feel hope that maybe we can be together someday. If she returns my interest, and if Uriah doesn't get to her first, or Al, or even Will…. I rub the back of my neck in frustration. Why do so many people have to like the only girl I care about _that_ way?

I suppose that's the problem. They can all show their interest, while I can't, and that seems fundamentally unfair.

But the more I think about it, the more I wonder if I truly _can't_. Peter and Drew got away with breaking the rules, after all. And Eric certainly does whatever the hell he wants. And what I want to do is nowhere near as bad as taking out an eye or dangling someone over the chasm.

What would happen if I just told Tris how I feel?

Drew thrashes a little in the chair, trying to avoid the bamboo that is now growing through his stomach as Edward laughs.

The worst that could happen would be that she doesn't feel the same way. I don't want her to feel pressured into saying yes if that's not what she truly wants…. But what if she does return my interest? How can she decide how to react to the others if she doesn't know that I care? And doesn't she deserve to make her decisions with all the facts in hand?

Or am I just rationalizing something I know I shouldn't do?

I shift around in my seat, trying to get more comfortable, but that doesn't make me feel any more at ease with my thoughts. No matter how much I don't like it, the Abnegation in me knows what the _right_ thing to do is. And more often than not, I still follow those instincts, so for now at least, I'll continue to wait.

* * *

Uriah is the most nervous I've ever seen him. He hides it fairly well, but I can see the sweat beading on his forehead and the way the corners of his mouth shake as he tries to smile at me. Unfortunately, I can't help him relax, not when he needs to understand how important it is to hide his Divergence during this stage.

"This will be similar to the aptitude test," I tell him solidly. "You'll be in a simulation, but you won't be aware that it's fake." His eyes widen a little, and I'm sure he was aware in that test the same way I was. I ignore that as I continue. "That means it's not like a dream, where you can sometimes manipulate it. Instead, it will feel just like reality, even when it doesn't quite make sense."

I look at him, trying to make sure he understands my real meaning. He needs to be careful not to manipulate this simulation, even if he can. After a moment, he nods shakily, and I continue. "What's different is that here you won't go into a pre-set simulation, but into one that your mind creates from one of your fears. You'll stay in it until you face your fear enough to slow your heart rate and breathing."

That's how he needs to exit the simulation, and I pause again, waiting for some indication that he gets what I'm saying. Unfortunately, I can't tell if he does. He's too nervous to read well – and possibly too nervous to be listening.

But I don't know what else to do. I've just told him all the pitfalls he needs to avoid; the more I add now, the more suspicious it will seem to anyone who hears it. I have to leave the rest up to Uriah.

So, I give him the injection, watching as it begins to take effect. At the last moment, when his mind is half here and half gone, I lean close to get his attention.

"Be brave, Uriah," I remind him firmly. I can only hope he carries that advice into his fear.

* * *

"Divergent!" Eric shouts, pointing at Uriah, and I cringe despite myself. Obviously, I was right about him.

Uriah is standing by the chasm, with a crowd gathering around him. At Eric's cry, they all join in, echoing the word in fear and revulsion as they close in.

"Divergent!"

"Your kind isn't welcome here," Max booms as he points a gun straight at Uriah's head.

"You know what we do to you," Maria chimes in, suddenly appearing. She's standing over Amar's body, resting her foot in the center of his back as thick, red blood congeals around her shoe.

"We'll kill you just like him," she adds, her voice little more than a hiss.

Somewhat to my surprise, I see myself emerge from the crowd.

"Help me!" Uriah calls, locking his eyes with mine, but my alternate self laughs.

"You had your chance," my voice taunts him. "You should have left this faction when I told you to." As I watch, throwing knives suddenly appear in my doppelganger's hands, and he begins flinging them mercilessly, each one driving hard into Uriah's flesh. For an odd moment, I wonder if that's how I looked to Tris when I threw the knives at her.

Uriah drops to the floor, sobbing as he curls up in an attempt to protect himself – or maybe to staunch the bleeding from the wounds I inflicted.

"I always knew I couldn't trust you," Shauna says as she emerges from the crowd, leaning over him. A long dagger flashes in her hand, and she smiles as she thrusts it into his side, slipping it between his ribs and through his organs until nothing but the hilt can be seen. He groans, a long, deep sound of pain that is beyond enduring.

His eyes close, and suddenly the simulation ends. It's far too abrupt, and I know that he must have manipulated it to stop. But I can't say I blame him. He's already revealed his secret thoroughly, so there's no point in continuing.

Before he can move at all, before the computer can register that the simulation has ended and can save it for the administrators to see, my fingers find the interceptor. I press it, effectively disconnecting the hard drive long enough for the automatic save to fail. I breathe an imperceptible sigh of relief as an error displays on the monitor, indicating that nothing was written to the drive at all. My invention worked.

"Damn it!" I say in my best imitation of annoyance as I stare at the screen. "The stupid computer glitched!" I look up at Uriah, meeting his wide, terrified eyes. "It didn't save your simulation."

I keep all traces of what I just saw and did out of my expression as I continue. "That means this simulation won't count toward your final score." He's staring at me in confusion and continued fear, but I ignore that and add, "That's too bad – your time was excellent."

He swallows hard, clearly unable to say anything yet, so I keep talking. "Oh well. It shouldn't end up mattering. The first simulation is typically the longest, so I'm sure your average will be fine without this one." I give him a tight smile.

He still doesn't respond, just sitting there with his eyes as wide as bowls. _Come on, Uriah, figure out what I'm doing._ But unfortunately he's not nearly as smart as Tris.

I point to the camera in the corner of the room and wave at it, reminding him that we're being watched and can't talk freely. "But say hi to your brother anyway. He should know that you only took about six minutes to master your first fear. I'm sure that's a lot better than he did."

Uriah's eyes find the camera, and I watch as everything finally clicks into place for him. As he suddenly _gets_ that I'm not turning him in, that somehow, despite how I acted in his imagination, I'm saving his butt. He waves weakly at the camera, panting a little as if he forgot to breathe for the last minute.

"Anyway," I say in a voice filled with complaint, "I guess I'll have to repair the computer before the next round of simulations." I stretch my back as I get up, trying to look like I'm stiff and tired of sitting here.

"I think I'll take it to my apartment to do that," I add thoughtfully. "It's more comfortable to work there." As I begin disconnecting myself from the equipment, I continue, "Uriah, do me a favor and help me carry all this stuff. That'll save me a trip."

His eyes jerk back to me, and he stares for another moment before nodding, clearly still at a loss on how to react to everything. But when I begin handing him items, he takes them willingly, and he lugs them behind me to my apartment without comment.

We set our loads down on the floor, for lack of anywhere better to place them in my small apartment, and I close the door and lock it before turning to Uriah.

"You don't tell _anyone_ about this, understand?" I tell him fiercely. "Not even Zeke."

He nods, his expression terrified. "Yeah," he manages to say, finally finding his voice again. "I know how dangerous it is."

"Clearly," I comment drily, "or it wouldn't have been in your _fear_ simulation." I glare at him as I add, "That can't happen again."

"Yeah, I know…" he says quietly. "But…I don't know how to stop it."

I sigh, running a hand across the back of my neck.

"That's why we're here," I tell him pointedly, gesturing toward the equipment. "You're going to practice until you can make your other fears appear instead, even if it takes all night."

* * *

It becomes obvious after the third try that Uriah can't hide this fear through sheer willpower.

"All right," I say as he ends the simulation again, looking around wildly. "Let's try something different." I pause, thinking about how to word this so I don't reveal my own Divergence or the fact that the tips I'm about to share originally came from my father, as he prepared me for my aptitude test.

"The computer takes whichever fear is strongest in your mind at the time it starts," I begin. "And it builds a simulation from that. If you can focus your mind on something _else_ you're afraid of right as it begins, maybe the computer will pick that up instead."

"But I don't know what else I'm afraid of," Uriah says, his voice a bit desperate.

The answer aggravates me. It's not that it's an unreasonable statement – it's just that it's been a long day, and I'm trying so hard to help him, and he seems to be impossible to help….

"Then make something up!" I snap. He stares, and I add, "You're now afraid of spiders, okay? That's a common fear – no one will look at it closely – and maybe it will lead the computer to find your other fears."

He doesn't say anything else, just watches me warily as I give him a small additional dose of the serum and start everything up again.

This time, though, as the simulation begins, I lean over so my face is close to his ear, and I speak in as creepy a voice as I can muster. "Great big spiders, with long, hairy legs. Thousands of them are crawling all over you, covering every inch of your skin. They're crawling into your eyes, and your nostrils, and your mouth. And all you can see are their eyes. Spiders are everywhere."

It works.

Uriah is still by the chasm, but this time, he's covered with spiders of all sizes. And when Eric appears, pointing, I say loudly, "Spiders!" and that's exactly what Eric ends up shouting.

Zeke appears, laughing at the sight of his brother covered in spiders, but even under the serum, Uriah appears to be unafraid of his sibling, because he responds by throwing a handful of the squirming creatures at Zeke while grinning broadly. It's enough to make the computer move on, and mercifully, it _finally_ finds another fear.

A man I've never seen before approaches, one hand held out pleadingly as the other is pressed to his stomach. His black clothes are torn, and red is pouring from between his fingers as he attempts to staunch the blood coming from his abdomen.

"Son," he manages to say. "Please help me."

Uriah steps forward immediately, his mouth forming the word, "Dad," but suddenly he is very young – a toddler – and he is powerless to do anything except watch as his father falls to the floor before him, dying slowly.

Watching other people's fears is the strangest aspect of training. In many cases, the real fear is hidden, like with Tris' crows, and it feels less like an invasion of privacy to watch it. At times like this, it feels far too personal.

I do my best to ignore what I'm seeing and hearing, paying only enough attention to ensure there is no more mention of the word "Divergent" and that Uriah doesn't manipulate the simulation in any way. When he finally emerges from it, some ten minutes after it started, tears are streaming silently down his face, and he turns away while he collects himself.

He looks exhausted when he eventually faces me again. "At least that one won't get me killed, huh?" he asks softly.

"No," I answer seriously, "it won't." I'm not sure what to follow that with, so I stand in awkward silence for a moment before clearing my throat. "I hate to say this, but you should try one more round, just to make sure you've got the technique down without me saying anything as you go under. I won't be able to do that in the real room, and I won't be able to bring the computer here again later, so this is your only chance to practice."

He nods, his expression grim but determined. "Let's do it."

This time, he's able to hold the image of the spiders on his own, without any interference from me, and the computer takes it. At first, he's by the chasm, as he was last time, but Eric doesn't appear this round. Instead, Uriah brushes the spiders off as he runs away, winding down hallways until he ends up outside the simulation room.

Tris is standing there, with Marlene and Lynn leaning against the wall opposite her.

"Uriah," Marlene says, her voice strange. "Lynn and I have a bet going. We're wondering if you like me or not."

Tris looks at him, her grayish blue eyes as beautiful as they are in real life, and I can tell by how detailed they are that he focuses on them as much as I do.

"Or do you like me?" she asks. Something inside me jumps.

"Um," Uriah says slowly, his eyes moving between them, "well…."

"I told you," Lynn says snidely. "He doesn't like either of you."

"That's not true," Uriah insists, his skin growing darker than usual as a blush begins to creep up his face. "I…I actually like both of you."

All three girls look extremely offended.

" _Both_ of us," Marlene shouts. "Are you _kidding_ me? You can't have _both_ of us!" Her eyes are bugging out with fury, and her hands have formed into fists.

"You can't have _either_ of us," Tris exclaims, looking every bit as angry as Marlene. "You don't deserve us!"

"I can't help it that I like you both," Uriah sputters, trying to defend himself as the girls turn away from him. "You're just both so pretty, and brave, and…" but by now they're walking away, and desperation begins to fill his face.

"Wait!" he calls after them. "Don't you like me?" He follows them, reaching for Tris' arm, and I realize that my own hands have formed into tight fists, my breathing coming fast and hard.

Tris yanks away from him. "Of course, I don't like you," she sneers. "I _hate_ you!" He looks crestfallen as she turns away again, her ponytail snapping at him as it whirls behind her.

"Mar," he whispers, turning to her now. "Mar? Don't you like me? Please?"

Her hand strikes across his face, hard, but he's holding her other arm, and somehow he doesn't let go despite the strike.

"Leave her alone!" Lynn yells in fury, suddenly lunging at him, her fingers clawing for his eyes. "She doesn't want you! Neither of them wants you!" Her fingers dig into his eyeballs, reminding me forcibly of Edward as the blood begins to flow.

"You will never have either of them! You're not good enough for them!"

He pushes at her, stumbling blindly, but she continues to attack, and he eventually ends up on the floor, sobbing even though he's unable to produce any tears from his mutilated eyes. The girls spit on him, one by one, before leaving him there, curled into a ball, wailing in misery.

He looks embarrassed when he emerges from the simulation.

"Um," he mutters, looking everywhere but at me, "can you just pretend you didn't see that?"

I almost laugh, despite the charge of anger still running through me at his admission to Tris. "Uriah, out of everything you've shown me today, _that_ isn't the simulation you need to hide."

A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. "You may have a point there," he admits. Giving a little, nervous shrug, he adds, "It's just…I _really_ wouldn't want any of them to know about that." He finally meets my eyes. "Seriously."

"I certainly won't tell them," I comment flatly. _As if I want Tris knowing about his attraction._

I stand up, feeling the full exhaustion of this day as I begin removing the wires that connect me to the computer.

"I think that's enough practice," I say. "Just use that technique in your simulations from now on, and it should keep you safe."

He nods, watching me for a moment as he seems to search for words. "Thanks, Four," he finally says, clearly feeling it's an understatement.

"Don't mention it," I tell him with a half-smile. My face turns serious again, and I add, "To anyone. Ever."

He nods, biting his lip. "Don't worry. I won't. But…if you ever need anything, just ask. Okay? I owe you."

For a few seconds, I debate asking him to stay away from Tris as a way of making us even. But it would be a selfish request. For all I know, Tris returns his interest, and if so, she deserves the chance to be happy. Besides, if he gets together with Marlene instead, that wouldn't be any kinder to Lynn than this is to me. Someone is going to lose out here no matter what.

"No," I say wearily, making my decision, "you don't owe me anything." Our eyes meet briefly, and I try without success to smile as I add, "Consider it an ordinary act of bravery."

__

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter is the scene where Four gets drunk by the chasm, so it should be a fun one. In the meantime, please take a moment to write a review letting me know what you thought of this chapter. Reviews always make my day and motivate me to write. Thanks!


	19. Divergent Chapter 19 – Drinking

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who took the time to review the last chapter! Your reward is another chapter... :-) Thank you also to my wonderful beta reader, Rosalie!

  
**"** **Divergent" Chapter 19 – Drinking**

By the time I finish lugging the equipment back to the simulation room, I'm utterly drained from this day. I seriously consider collapsing on the bed and taking a nap before dinner, but I know I'd only dream about all the fears I just witnessed. So, I decide to go looking for Zeke instead. He's always happy to spend an evening drinking, and right now I think I'll take him up on that.

"Did Uri really get out in six minutes?" he asks the moment I open the door to the control room.

"Did you rewatch the footage and time him?" I shoot back, lifting an eyebrow.

"Damn, no," Zeke says as if he can't believe he didn't think of that. He turns toward the computer, obviously planning to rectify his mistake, but I don't want him watching that scene again. He clearly isn't suspicious right now, and there's no point in giving him the chance to become that way.

"Don't bother," I tell him as I sag into the chair next to him. "It really was that quick." As he turns back to me, I add, "Unlike the rest of my day."

For a moment, Zeke just looks at me, sympathy clear in his expression. He's never monitored the simulations, but he must realize how difficult it is.

"I need beer," I add tiredly. "Lots and lots of beer. Can you make that happen, Zeke?"

"Of course," he says, a grin emerging. "You know me, Four. I'm always here for you on that one."

* * *

I'm barely halfway through my first bottle when I notice the paper on Zeke's coffee table. It's clearly a new article from Erudite, and I know I should ignore it. I'm already tired and in a bad mood – there's nothing to be gained from adding to that – but I pick the paper up and scan it anyway. Part of me feels the need to stay abreast of what they're saying, to gauge how far away the war is.

" _The mass exodus of the children of Abnegation leaders cannot be ignored or attributed to coincidence_ ," the article begins, and I feel a weight sink into the pit of my stomach. They wrote about Tris after all.

" _The recent transfers of Beatrice and Caleb Prior, the children of Andrew Prior, calls into question the soundness of Abnegation's values and teachings. Why else would the children of such an important man decide that the lifestyle he has set out for them is not an admirable one?_ " I sigh, looking away for a moment. I hadn't realized that Tris' brother transferred too. I wonder where he went.

" _Molly Atwood, a fellow Dauntless transfer, suggests a disturbed and abusive upbringing might be to blame._ " The weight in my stomach doubles, making it difficult to breathe. " _'I heard her talking in her sleep once," Molly says. 'She was telling her father to stop doing something. I don't know what it was, but it gave her nightmares.'_ "

It's as if the paper burns my fingers, and I drop it on the table, staring at it as I try to calm the pounding in my chest and try to force air in and out of my lungs. _It's not true._ I'm sure it's not. Andrew would have been in Tris' fear today if there were any truth to the accusation.

But if it's false, why did _both_ of the Prior children transfer? In particular, why did Tris transfer if she really is Divergent? It makes no sense to come to this place – the most dangerous faction – if you have another choice.

I take a long swig of my beer, ignoring the way Zeke is looking at me. At least some of the Erudite articles are false. That I know for certain. But I also know that at least one is true…and that not all of the Abnegation leaders are innocent.

"You okay, man?" Zeke asks quietly, and I look up enough to see his expression, though I can't get myself to meet his eyes. He's watching me thoughtfully, with something of sadness in the set of his mouth. It's too close to pity, and I hate it.

"Can we burn that paper?" I ask fiercely, suddenly not wanting to ever see it again, or ever think about Erudite or the coming war or my former faction. I climb to my feet, moving around the room restlessly.

"Oddly," Zeke comments, "there aren't many fires in Dauntless, despite it being our symbol and all." I can tell he's working hard to keep his tone light, even if he doesn't fully succeed. He clears his throat. "But we could toss the paper in the chasm."

I nod, keeping my expression as blank as possible as I grab my bottle of beer, along with an extra. "That'll work," I state flatly, turning to the door. "But only if we bring lots of alcohol."

* * *

"God, you should have seen Zeke's face," Shauna is saying, barely able to talk through her laughter. "He just stood there, staring at me like he couldn't figure out what went wrong." She catches at her side with the hand that isn't holding a beer as she adds, "And he was _completely_ covered with feathers."

Zeke makes an offended sound. "You realize I'm going to kill Uri for warning you," he says, but that just makes Shauna laugh harder.

"He opened his mouth to explain," she gasps out, "and this whole _cloud_ of little feathers just _puffed_ out, like smoke." She dissolves into laughter, and I find myself joining in, holding onto the railing to avoid falling into the chasm. After all the planning Zeke put into that prank, it's hilarious that it backfired so spectacularly.

"Were you able to get the place clean?" Samantha asks Shauna, looking rather more concerned than I feel. Of course, it's hard to feel much right now, given the sheer volume of alcohol numbing my body.

"Oh, Zeke'll be cleaning it for weeks," Shauna answers, poking him in the ribs. "Won't you?"

"Nah," he says, recovering his usual grin. "I'll make Uri do it."

My gaze wanders as they start discussing something more mundane, something I can't seem to focus on right now. Vaguely, I realize it would be easier to focus if the world weren't spinning a little….

My eyes catch on a familiar blond head, and suddenly I don't care what my friends are talking about anymore.

"Tris!" I call without thinking, starting toward her. _Will_ is with her, and that annoys me, so I ignore him. But _she_ looks beautiful. She's wearing a shirt that exposes more skin than I've ever seen on her, leaving her shoulders and collarbone uncovered, and I can't help but stare.

"You look different," I say, moving my gaze down her front and then back up to her face. There's a dark outline around her eyes, and it makes them even more noticeable than usual. It's a fantastic effect.

"So do you," she comments, and I work to remember what I said that she's answering now. "What are you doing?" she adds.

I laugh. "Flirting with death. Drinking near the chasm." Abruptly, I remember that we usually discourage the initiates from doing that. "Probably not a good idea," I add, trying to be a better influence.

"No, it isn't," Tris tells me. I can't read her expression. I wish I could.

My eyes travel back to her exposed skin, and I notice three birds tattooed onto her collarbone. They intrigue me, and I look at them for several seconds.

"Didn't know you had a tattoo," I say, nodding a little, before taking another chug of my beer. It takes a moment, but something finally clicks – something from today. Her fear.

"Right," I exclaim, getting it. "The _crows_."

But I don't like the memory of her fear. It was hard to see her that way – _afraid_. I glance over my shoulder, realizing I'd much rather see her talking with my friends. Maybe I could invite her to join us, but even as I think it, I feel resistance from the back of my mind. There's some reason I can't do that yet. I don't quite remember what it is.

"I'd ask you to hang out with us," I start, voicing my thoughts without my usual filters, as I struggle to remember the reason she can't. Eventually, part of it comes. "But you're not supposed to see me this way."

"What way?" she asks, looking amused. "Drunk?"

That could be it. That would make sense. "Yeah…" I answer. But then I frown, realizing there's more to it than that. "Well, no. Real, I guess."

Tris smiles, just a little, but there's something sad about it. "I'll pretend I didn't," she says softly.

"Nice of you," I respond, watching her lips. That sadness shouldn't be there. I'd like to remove it. Maybe I could do that by kissing her…. But the voice sounds from the back of my head again, telling me I can't do that. Not yet.

Instead, I lean close, my mouth right by her ear, and I murmur, "You look good, Tris."

She laughs, the sadness gone, and I feel a warmth spreading through me at the thought that I made her happy. I like that feeling – a lot.

"Do me a favor," she says, looking at me, "and stay away from the chasm, okay?"

"Of course," I answer, still feeling good. I wink at her, and she smiles back. I don't really want to leave, but somehow I know I should, so I make my way back to my friends.

When I reach them, I look back one more time. Al has Tris over his shoulder as he carries her away, but she's not paying any attention to him. Instead, she's watching _me_ , waving her hand as the Sledgehammer takes her slowly out of sight. I can't help but grin.

"Whoa, what's got you looking like that?" Zeke asks, leaning closer to me and following my gaze. I freeze, as the voice that has been trying to shout from the back of my mind finally makes itself heard. _I'm not supposed to be flirting with the initiates._

"Nothing," I answer, trying to come up with a convincing lie. But my thoughts are foggy and slow, and I end up drawing a blank.

"Yeah, right," Zeke says with a laugh. "Then why is the Stiff waving at you?"

"She's just friendly," I say dismissively. That seems like a good cover story. The Dauntless-born tend to mix up Abnegation and Amity traits.

"No, she isn't," Zeke says a little too loudly, his words slurring somewhat. "Uri says she's brave and tough and _Dauntless_." The words make me angry, even though they're true. Strangely, it's easy to remember why, despite how fuzzy my mind is - it's because _Uriah_ said them.

"I'm going to kill your brother, you know," I state matter-of-factly, but Zeke just laughs again.

"No, _I'm_ going to kill him," he slurs. "Remember? He ruined my joke on Shauna."

"Oh, yeah." I smile again. "That was pretty funny."

"Eh, I suppose it was." Zeke glances after Tris again and then nudges me with his elbow. "I think she's got a thing for you," he whispers loudly enough to be more like a shout.

"Nah," I say automatically as I turn to the chasm again. But the grin is back on my face, and right now, I'm not sure it will ever go away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to be clear...this story leads to my "Determinant" alternate third book, not to "Allegiant," so the comment about how Tobias is going to kill Uriah is not some Star Wars style foreshadowing. In my version, that never happens.
> 
> Anyway, please let me know what you thought of this chapter! I'm close to getting this story connected back to part 2 (which is currently only on fanfiction), and I could use some motivation to get there. Thanks!


	20. Divergent Chapter 20 – Discoveries

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the reviews of the last chapter! You really inspired me to make progress on this story. Thank you also to my wonderful beta reader, Rosalie!

  
**"** **Divergent" Chapter 20 – Discoveries**

My head is going to explode. That's obvious the moment I wake up, and I lie here gritting my teeth against the pain as my alarm blares agonizingly. What the hell was I thinking, getting that drunk when I have to work today?

I groan loudly as I try to find the off button, hitting everything near my bed until I finally succeed. How am I supposed to face eighteen simulations like this?

But I force myself to my feet, stumbling to the bathroom and desperately pulling out every pain killer I have, looking for something that will be strong enough. I almost smack my aching forehead when I realize I didn't even drink Uriah's hangover preventer last night.

Unfortunately, it's not the best idea to dwell on that drink right now, with its awful smell and grotesque appearance. My stomach churns at the thought, and suddenly I'm heaving into the toilet, swearing I will never again do this to my poor body.

It takes me an hour to drag myself to the simulation room, and that's without eating breakfast first. Even if I had time, the mere concept of food is nauseating at the moment.

At least it's not quite as important to pay attention to the simulations today. Whenever I've seen someone reveal themselves as Divergent, it was always on the first day, so there shouldn't be any surprises now. And I've already done everything I can to help Uriah.

Still, it proves to be a _long_ morning. I spend the entire time cringing as fear after fear assaults my overly-touchy senses. It doesn't help that I'm sure Zeke is laughing his ass off as he watches me from the control room. In between initiates, I make rude hand gestures at the camera in a lame attempt at revenge, but it doesn't do much to cheer me up.

It helps even less that several of the initiates are giving me strange looks – looks that make me suspect I did something I don't remember. And it's worst of all that the initiates are Tris' friends.

Al glares at me jealously, and Will eyes me with upset curiosity, while Christina tries to hide a smirk. Tris herself maintains a neutral expression, but that isn't reassuring. I know how well the Abnegation perfect that particular skill to avoid embarrassing others, so it just implies that I have a reason to be embarrassed.

As lunchtime approaches, I find myself watching the clock more than the simulations. All I can think about is Tris and what I did or said last night. Flashes of memory keep appearing, but not enough to put together. God, I didn't kiss her while I was drunk, did I?

When we finally break for lunch, I make a bee-line for the control room, needing to watch last night's footage.

"Bad hang-over, Four?" Zeke asks as I open the door. He's smiling widely, clearly amused by the rotten morning I've been having, or at least by the gestures I've been directing at him in response to it.

"No, it's been absolutely lovely," I growl. "Why do you ask?"

He laughs, and I can't help cringing at even that level of noise as I sink into a chair, holding my head in my hands.

"It'll help if you eat, and drink some water, you know," Zeke points out, but I just groan.

"No, you go eat. I'm going to sit here where it's quiet." Maybe that will be enough to get him out of the room, so I can watch the footage privately.

I should know better.

"Aw, don't you want to go to the lunchroom and see that pretty little initiate?" Zeke coos. Everything inside me goes cold with fear, and I can't stop myself from looking up sharply, staring at my best friend in horror. _I knew I did something._

For a split second, he looks at me in confusion, and then his eyes widen to enormous proportions, and I realize he was just joking…until my reaction confirmed his words.

"Oh, shit…" he whispers, _getting_ it – and clearly at a loss on how to respond.

I groan again, dragging my hands down my face, covering my eyes in the process. "What did I do last night, Zeke?" I know my voice is desperate.

"I don't really know, man," he answers almost sympathetically. "I was pretty wasted, too." He pauses, chewing on his lip. "But you left for a while, and when you came back, one of the initiates was waving at you."

"Oh, God…" I moan, dropping my head back into my hands. This is getting worse by the minute. "I'm so screwed."

We're both silent for a long moment before Zeke finds his voice again. "Well, let's see how bad the damage was." He turns toward the computer, typing in commands, and we watch….

Normally, I like that our surveillance system doesn't pick up much of the conversation that occurs in the Pit. The overall noise level is too high, between the number of people and the roar from the chasm, so there's a sort of privacy there. Today, however, I would love to hear exactly what came out of my mouth.

I watch myself cross to Tris, abandoning my friends and ignoring hers while I talk exclusively with her. The conversation lasts a few minutes, and I can see myself smiling and eyeing her with considerably more interest than an instructor should show, but I have no idea what I actually said.

It's hard not to panic when I see myself lean close to her ear. Between her hair and the limits of the camera angle, I can't tell if I just whispered something or kissed her or both, but there's no way whatever I did was appropriate.

"All the girls in this place," Zeke mutters in disbelief as he stares at the screen, "and you had to go for someone who's not even a member yet…." I don't answer. What am I supposed to say to that?

Instead, I continue watching the screen, trying not to react as Al scoops Tris up and carries her away. As they move out of sight of the camera, the last thing I see is her waving at me, a smile on her face.

Zeke freezes the frame, looking at it for a long time. "Well, it's not entirely bad," he finally says. I raise a skeptical eyebrow at my best friend. It seems pretty awful to me.

"No, really. Look at her face," he continues. "That's not the expression of someone who's mad or who feels like her trainer just made an unwelcome pass at her. She looks…pleased. I think maybe she likes you, too, man."

I stare at the image frozen on the monitor. Everything inside me _wants_ Zeke to be right, but I have a hard time believing it.

"Besides," Zeke adds, "you were obviously drunk. You couldn't even walk straight, and I'm sure your speech was slurred. She must know not to take whatever you said too seriously."

"I don't know, Zeke," I mutter, still staring at Tris' image. "If I said what it looks like I did, I meant it. And she's smart enough to figure that out."

There's no response, and I finally look over to see my friend watching me appraisingly. "You _really_ like her, don't you?" he asks softly.

I can count on one hand the number of serious conversations I've had with Zeke, but despite that, he's the person I trust most in this faction.

"Yeah," I say quietly, staring fixedly at the floor.

He sighs. "Well, nobody's been here looking for this footage, so I don't think anyone important noticed you last night. And there are only a couple of weeks of initiation left. Just try to, you know, get through those without drawing any attention, and you'll be fine."

I give a bitter laugh. "Except by then she'll be with Uriah." I scrub my fingers through my hair in irritation. "He likes her too."

Zeke is silent for several seconds before reluctantly admitting, "Yes, he does. But you let me worry about that." My eyes snap back to him, and I'm surprised to see the determination on his face.

"Seriously," he adds, gesturing again to Tris' image on the monitor. "I think she's interested in you, and I've certainly never seen _you_ like this before. I'm not going to let my brother get in the way of that. He likes Marlene, too – I'll nudge him in her direction. Make everyone happy."

I hesitate, feeling the same internal battle I struggled with last night, but as my eyes return to Tris' smile, and the way she's waving, I don't have the strength to turn down Zeke's offer. I want this too badly.

"Don't let him know how I feel," I plead. "Don't let _anyone_ know. If Eric somehow finds out…."

But Zeke interrupts me before I can finish that thought. "Four, I know how to keep a secret."

"I don't have any proof of that, Zeke," I shoot back, trying to keep my voice light but knowing it's still a true statement. To my surprise, he grins.

"That, my friend, is _because_ I know how to keep a secret."

The response almost makes me laugh, but there's a seriousness behind his humor that stops me. And abruptly it occurs to me that maybe he knows about Uriah's Divergence – maybe _that's_ the secret he's keeping. But if so, I know we'll never have that conversation. Neither of us will take the risk.

"Go get some lunch," he adds, clapping me on the shoulder, and I nod despite my pounding headache.

"Oh," he continues as I climb slowly to my feet, "if Tris' simulation gets…awkward this afternoon, don't worry about it. Just give me a sign, and I'll delete the footage." He winks before turning back to the monitors.

"Thanks, Zeke," I mumble, and then I make my painful way to the door. I'm still not looking forward to the rest of the day, but it's certainly nice to know that someone has my back.

* * *

Tris' eyes meet mine briefly as she enters the simulation room. I manage to keep my hands off her this time, but I _know_ from the expression on her face that she's wondering how much of last night I remember. It's probably better if she assumes the answer is none. It's true enough anyway.

"Today's fear will be different from yesterday's," I tell her in my instructor voice. "But the rules for how to get out of it are the same. You'll stay in it until you slow your breathing and your heart rate to a normal level."

"Yes, I know," she answers, but the words sound automatic, and she eyes the chair nervously before forcing herself to sit in it. Her breathing is hard.

"It's just a simulation, Tris," I say quietly. She doesn't look like she believes me, but she nods anyway before closing her eyes. I don't know if it's harder or easier to inject her this way.

The simulation begins in a dark room. A blue light turns on, and in its dim light I can just make out Tris' figure standing nearby. Another light begins to glow, making the room clearer. I can now see that Tris is standing on the floor of the Pit, by the chasm, surrounded by the other initiates. Their arms are folded, and their faces are blank, and they stay perfectly still, just watching.

Tris sees something and reaches out, and suddenly there is a glass wall in front of her. Before she can react, other panes appear around her, and above her, and it becomes clear that she's in a glass box. She presses against the ceiling of it, trying to open it, but she's sealed in.

My chest constricts a little as I see myself appear beside the box, tapping on the wall. Is she seeing me for the same reason the other initiates are there, as a witness to her fear, or because of something I said last night, or because she hopes I'll help her?

My double points to Tris' feet, where water is starting to fill the box, and _smirks_. The expression wrenches at me, even more so because it doesn't seem to surprise Tris. She crouches, trying to figure out where the water is coming from, before looking at my image questioningly. He just shrugs before joining the initiates, _watching_. I've never wanted to punch myself quite so much.

The water is rising fast now, and Tris begins pounding on the glass. "Hey!" she shouts. "Let me out of here!" But of course no one does anything. This is a fear simulation after all. Instead, the initiates begin to whisper to each other and laugh.

Tris continues to pound on the walls, using her fists and her shoulders in panicked attempts to break free.

"Help!" she screams, as she did with the crows yesterday, and it tugs at me as much as it did then. "Please! Please help!"

She slaps at the tank again before pausing to run her hands through her hair. She's obviously trying to think of a way out of this, and I have to commend her for having that much presence of mind despite the serum running through her.

She seems to be trying to relax, the way she did yesterday, and I watch as she lies back, letting the water lift her while she breathes deeply. Her face touches the glass lid, and she gasps a last lungful of air before she's covered. For another long moment, she remains calm, and I know she's almost out of the simulation…. But then she loses it.

It's clearly too difficult to face not being able to breathe, and she begins thrashing in panic, kicking the walls and screaming. Water fills her mouth and eyes, and she screams again, shoving at the wall with her palm.

It cracks.

I can feel myself sitting up straighter in my chair as I watch inside the simulation, riveted. She slams her other hand into the wall, and another crack appears, larger than the first. She kicks this time, and a long, low groan fills the Pit as the wall opens up. Shards of glass fly everywhere, carried by the water that bursts from its cage, and Tris is thrown backwards. I don't even have time to see what happens to her after that, because the simulation abruptly ends.

Instinctively, I grab for the interceptor to prevent her simulation from saving, but my fingers come up empty, and I realize that in my hung-over state, I forgot to bring it today. Cold fear goes through every part of me, adding to the headache that's still pounding through my skull. _Tris is Divergent, and I just let the proof be recorded._

But I try to calm myself down. Maybe there's another explanation. Maybe her fear wasn't of drowning, but of something else that she faced by breaking the glass.

"What?" she asks me, and I realize I've been staring at her blankly.

"How did you do that?" I ask before I can stop myself, before I can think better of asking her here, where we're being watched.

"Do what?" she asks so innocently that I think I must be wrong about her. There must be a different explanation.

"Crack the glass."

She looks confused. "I don't know," she admits. But despite her uncertainty, I can't help but notice that she's way too calm for someone who just exited a fear simulation. And again, I'm certain that she's Divergent. I'm just not sure _she_ knows it.

I remove my wires and reach my hand out to her. She grasps it smoothly, using it to pull herself out of the chair and standing with no jitteriness at all. Clearly, we need to talk about the importance of hiding.

With a sigh, I grab her arm and pull her hastily from the room to a location where we won't be observed. I must be holding her too hard, though, because as we reach a good spot and stop, she yanks her arm free forcefully. For a moment, I just stare at her, trying to figure out where to begin. It would be easier if my thinking were clearer.

"What?" she demands, as she did a moment ago.

The words simply come out. "You're Divergent." It's as good a place to start as any. Either she knows the word or she doesn't.

The expression on her face tells me immediately which is the case. Fear shoots through her eyes before she forces it away and leans casually against the wall.

"What's Divergent?"

And suddenly I'm furious – with her and with myself. She _knows_ she's Divergent, and she _knows_ how dangerous it is to show that, and yet she did something that obvious, something that could easily get her killed, particularly when Eric is already watching her. And I couldn't even stop it, because I felt some idiotic need to get plastered yesterday and was too hung over today to do my _job_.

"Don't play stupid," I snap. "I suspected it last time, but this time it's obvious. You _manipulated_ the simulation; you're Divergent." I pause, trying to calm myself, but it's no good. "I'll delete the footage," I spit, "but unless you want to wind up _dead_ at the bottom of the chasm, you'll figure out how to _hide_ it during the simulations!"

I want to keep going, want to vent the full extent of my anger, but I manage to rein the instinct in. Instead, I finish with, "Now, if you'll excuse me!" before I march back into the simulation room and slam the door behind me.

Deleting the simulation is the easy part. Coming up with an excuse is much harder. For several long seconds, I debate how to proceed, but then I realize the answer is obvious. Zeke is watching me, and he's the witness I need.

"I was in her fear, Zeke," I say, letting all the frustration I'm feeling work its way into my voice. I look at the camera as I add, "I'm going to delete it. Kill the footage, too." I know he will.

I wipe the file and replace it with a note claiming that my finger must have slipped when I started the recording, because it didn't take. It's suspicious, but there's a slight chance that no one will look further than that. And if they do, the most they'll "learn" is that I deleted everything to cover my inappropriate flirting. That could get me in trouble, but it's far better than revealing Tris' Divergence.

__

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please take a moment to review this chapter and let me know what you thought of it. I always felt like Tobias' anger toward Tris was odd in this scene in "Divergent," so I added a little context around it. To me, it seems to flow better this way, but I'm curious to hear if it worked. Thanks!


	21. Divergent Chapter 21 – Tris Is Attacked

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed the last chapter! Your reviews always mean a tremendous amount to me. Thank you also to my wonderful beta reader, Rosalie!

  
**"** **Divergent" Chapter 21 – Tris Is Attacked**

The rest of the week goes by in a rush of fear after fear, each one tugging a little more at my soul. I start all of Tris' sessions with a thinly-veiled reminder that there's only _one_ way to exit the simulation – to slow her breathing and heart rate. She clearly gets it, because she doesn't do any obvious manipulations again. Her times are still incredibly short, but that could be because she's truly that brave.

Uriah manages to look normal, too, much to my relief, especially when halfway through the week Eric begins randomly dropping in to observe simulations. He claims that he's just checking on things, but I know he's looking for signs of Divergence. Well, that and enjoying my slow deterioration as the cumulative fears get to me.

They invade every aspect of my life, particularly my sleeping hours. My nightmares have never been worse, despite the fact that Marcus hasn't been in them so far this week. At this point, I'd welcome him back – it would be much better than dreaming about Eric torturing Tris in a thousand different ways because he finds out what she is.

Just to top it all off, the Erudite release two more articles about Abnegation over the course of the week. The first I know is false, containing absurd accusations that my former faction withholds luxuries from everyone else in order to force their self-denial on the whole city. I don't waste any time being upset over it.

The second article bothers me considerably more. It asks why only one faction should hold all the power and calls for a return to elected officials. It's well worded and sounds far too reasonable, and I know it's an indication that the war is getting close. It doesn't help that I see Uriah playing cards with Tris afterwards, trying to comfort her. Marlene is there, too, but it still gets under my skin to see Uriah with the girl we both like while I have to keep my distance.

On the fifth day of simulations, Tris finally has a fear that includes her family, and for a sick moment I expect to find out that the article about Andrew was true. But to my enormous relief, there's no abuse whatsoever in it. Instead, she watches her family slowly bleed to death. It says something about the kind of week I'm having that I feel almost giddy seeing that, knowing that it's so much better than the alternatives I could be forced to watch.

By the final afternoon of simulations, I can barely focus on reality and am practically twitching with the desire to be done with this stage of initiation. It probably doesn't help that I'm operating on a total of maybe ten hours of sleep from the past four days.

I save Tris for last today, for utterly selfish reasons. When I feel the relief of being done with this week, I want it to be while I'm looking at her.

To my surprise, she faces the same fear as yesterday – being forced to shoot her family. It's very rare to repeat a simulation during stage two. To my knowledge, I'm the only one who's done that, and it was because I had just four fears for the computer to exploit. Tris must not have many, either.

She sits on the chair afterwards, her head in her hands while she breathes deeply. In some ways, I'm doing the same thing, feeling the simultaneous exhaustion and exhilaration of finishing this week.

Eventually, I disconnect myself from the computer for the last time this year and rise to my feet. Tris lifts her head and looks at me.

"I know the simulation isn't real," she says, her voice barely above a whisper, and I realize she's still feeling the misery of her fear, not the joy of getting through this stage. She's done extremely well, but I know that won't comfort her right now. This particular fear obviously digs deep.

"You don't have to explain it to me," I tell her as gently as I can. "You love your family. You don't want to shoot them. Not the most unreasonable thing in the world."

She nods a little, climbing wearily to her feet and making her way slowly to the back door, but she stops before actually leaving.

"In the simulation is the only time I get to see them," she admits. That statement surprises me. I've never loved someone enough to be willing to sit through a fear just to catch another glimpse of them.

She twists her fingers together, and I step towards her instinctively, wanting to take her hands in mine to keep her from hurting herself. I stop myself in time.

"I miss them," she continues. "You ever just…miss your family?"

There's no easy way to answer that, and I debate saying nothing, but she's opening up to me here.

"No," I finally answer, my eyes fixed on the floor. "I don't…. But that's unusual."

She's silent, and I eventually look up to find her staring at me. It's not a pitying look, or even a particularly questioning one, and I find myself staring back trying to figure it out. She doesn't look away, and neither do I. We just stand still, our eyes locked, even though we're way past the point of how long it's socially acceptable to do this.

Her eyes are so beautiful. Serious, and thoughtful, and powerful. It's as if she can see right through me – can see everything about me and how I feel. But I don't draw away from that closeness. I want it more than anything.

She finally turns and leaves the room without a word, and I stand there staring at the closed door, my hands shaking slightly. Maybe Zeke is right. Maybe, despite all odds, Tris likes me, just a little….

* * *

"What was with the staring contest?" Zeke asks me at dinner. Shauna looks up curiously, but I just shrug.

"It's been a long week," I answer, letting my weariness creep into my voice. "I probably forgot how to talk."

Zeke laughs, nudging me conspiratorially, and I let the corner of my mouth lift a little. There's only one stage of initiation left before I can say whatever I want to Tris…. Just one more week.

But as I look around the dining hall, something strikes me as wrong. Christina and Will sit together, looking more than a little annoyed, while Tris and Al are nowhere in sight. And Eric is looking at me with a smirk that bothers me deeply.

"What's going on with Eric?" I ask, an edge to my voice. Maybe Zeke saw something from the control room that will tell me what's happening.

Zeke glances that way and frowns thoughtfully. "I'm not sure. The only thing I saw him do was release the stage two rankings."

Ice runs through my veins. We don't normally announce the rankings at the end of stage two, since no one is cut then. Eric must have done it for a reason, and that reason probably has to do with Tris, since I'm sure she's ranked first now. With her simulation times, there's no way she wouldn't be.

Eric must either suspect that she's Divergent or that I care about her – or both….

"How did Lynn do?" Shauna asks conversationally, apparently oblivious to my worry.

"She and Uriah both kicked butt," Zeke says with a grin. He winks at me as he adds, "But the Stiff took first by a huge margin."

"Yeah," I say uncomfortably, glancing at Eric again. "She was really fast."

"Where are they, anyway?" Shauna asks, looking around the room. I follow her gaze, and slowly it dawns on me that Tris and Al aren't the only ones absent. Uriah, Lynn, and Marlene aren't here, either.

"They're probably out celebrating," Zeke says easily, taking another bite of his dinner. But his words don't cheer me up much. I don't like the thought of Tris and Uriah celebrating together, particularly if it involves alcohol. There's no way of knowing what Eric is planning next, and Tris will need to be alert to handle whatever it might be.

"Yeah, probably," I comment flatly. "I'll look for them after dinner, to make sure they don't do anything that'll get them kicked out of Dauntless."

Zeke nods, though I can tell from his expression that he thinks I'm worried about the idea of Tris and Uriah being together. He's not entirely wrong.

"I'll join you," he says. Glancing at Shauna, he adds, "In fact, why don't we all go?"

* * *

It would probably be fastest to go to the control room, but we decide to walk by Uriah's favorite places first rather than rushing up there, since it may be better not to draw attention to whatever they're doing. We don't have any luck with the first two locations we try, but as we near the training room, I hear an unusual type of gunfire.

"That sounds like a pellet gun," I comment, knowing that no one who is allowed to be in the shooting range after hours would use one of those.

"We both win!" a female voice sounds, faintly audible from the hallway.

"Gross!" someone else adds, and we all grin as we recognize Uriah's voice.

I push the door to the room open just in time to see Uriah fire a pellet gun at a target. The plastic bullet bounces off the bulls-eye and rolls along the ground.

"I thought I heard something in here," I comment loudly enough to catch the initiates' attention. I'm relieved to see they're all safely here: Uriah, Lynn, Marlene, and most of all, Tris. The only one missing is Al, but somehow I'm not surprised that he's not with this group. They're all too Dauntless for him.

"Turns out it's my idiot brother," Zeke says snidely. "You're not supposed to be in here after hours." His eyes twinkle a little as he adds, "Careful, or Four will tell Eric, and then you'll be as good as scalped."

The words are an uncomfortable reminder of why I came looking for Tris in the first place, but I don't respond. Uriah, of course, knows better than to take the comment seriously, and he wrinkles his nose at Zeke as he puts his pellet gun away and heads toward where I'm still standing by the door. Marlene crosses the room to join him, eating a muffin as she walks, and I step to the side to let them leave.

Lynn joins them, giving me a deeply suspicious look before saying uncertainly, "You wouldn't tell Eric." I'm not sure what I've ever done to make Lynn so wary of me, but I can reassure her about this.

"No, I wouldn't," I answer simply. Lynn nods in satisfaction and strides out of the room.

Tris starts to follow, and my hand moves on its own, resting on her back as if ushering her out of the room. A slight shiver that doesn't seem to be from fear runs through her, and suddenly I don't want to lose this moment.

"Wait a second," I say before I can think better of it. She turns back to me, her gaze appraising, and I manage a nervous smile. I don't know how to tell her that I'm afraid of what Eric might do, or why he might do it. But as I look at her, I realize something else. She seems to be upset, and it suddenly occurs to me that she's here without her transfer friends for a reason – they must have abandoned her because she outranked them. The thought disgusts me.

"You belong here, you know that?" I say abruptly. "You belong with us." She looks at me uncertainly, and I add, "It'll be over soon, so just hold on, okay?"

She stares, clearly unsure how to respond, and I look away, embarrassed, scratching behind my ear for lack of anything else to do with my right hand.

Time seems to stop for a moment, and then something totally unexpected happens. Tris steps closer and takes my left hand in her right. My fingers slide between hers instantly, as if they've been waiting a lifetime for this, and my eyes find hers. As we did earlier, we hold each other's gaze, just looking, except this time our hands are linked. The warmth seems to spread through my entire being.

I have no idea how long we stay like that, but I never want it to end. I could spend eternity here with Tris, with nothing but her touch and her incredible eyes to sustain me.

With a final, gentle squeeze, she pulls her hand away and heads after the others, leaving me standing alone in the hallway, grinning like an idiot.

* * *

My body falls onto the bed the moment I walk through my door, and I'm out instantly. My first dream is of Tris, and it's by far the best dream I've had all week – and maybe in my life. I've never noticed scents in a dream before, but in this one, I stand close to Tris, her fingers intertwined with mine as I breathe her alluring fragrance. Nothing more than that happens, but it feels absolutely incredible.

The next dream is just as extreme, but in the opposite direction. My ankles and wrists are chained to a dank wall in a prison of some kind, and I'm forced to watch as Eric tortures Tris slowly to death, taunting her about Divergence the entire time. I beg for him to kill me instead, and I offer him every piece of information I know, but he just keeps going. It's the single worst nightmare I've ever had.

When I finally wake up, I know there's no way I'll be able to fall asleep again, so I head to the control room, suddenly needing to see what Eric is doing.

Amy is on duty, half asleep at the controls as usual.

"What's up, Four?" she asks groggily.

"Too hyped up to sleep," I mutter, looking at the monitors. I don't want to admit that I'm trying to find Eric. "So I thought I'd check on the initiates."

She just shrugs, but I've already stopped paying attention to her. My eyes are fixed on a monitor that shows Eric talking…to _Jeanine Matthews_ , the leader of Erudite. I knew he was up to more than his usual evil at the moment.

Unfortunately, that camera is on a rotation, and I can't force it to stop without alerting Amy, so all I catch are glimpses and words in between cycles.

"Well, you wouldn't have seen much of it yet," Jeanine says before I see a blank hallway from another camera. Two switches later, the image returns.

"…the reason I had Max appoint you," Jeanine continues. "Your first priority…" but then she's gone again. The next rotation has her saying, "Keep your personal feelings out of it."

The snatches continue, and while I can follow parts of the conversation, it's overall too broken up for me to learn anything new. I curse mentally, knowing I'll have to wait until my next shift before I can watch the footage in full – assuming no one deletes it by then.

After ten minutes or so, they part ways, walking off in separate directions. I watch Eric for another moment, not trusting that he's heading to bed, but the rational part of me knows that it's very late and that he's unlikely to do anything else tonight. So, I finally mutter a goodbye to Amy and leave. My nerves are still too raw to sleep, but I have to at least try. My level of exhaustion is getting dangerous.

I'm partway down the long path around the Pit when I hear a scream that reaches straight through me and yanks my heart to a stop. _It's_ _Tris, afraid for her life._ Eric must have decided to act already.

My feet are pounding toward them before my mind has a chance to process what I'm doing. I have no plan – no idea what I'll do when I reach them – but I can't stop to figure that out. There's no choice but to react _now_. I _have_ to save Tris.

I run faster than I've ever moved in my life, my feet beating into the narrow path and my heart racing – faster and faster and faster still as I wind my way to the floor of the Pit. God, please let me get there in time.

As I finally reach the floor, I see a figure running toward me. It will be one of Eric's followers, trying to stop me, and my mind automatically leaps into fighting mode. He's big, which means I shouldn't take him head-on. But if I can clip him just enough to knock him off balance, I should be able to swerve around him, and it will take him time to recover and chase me.

I'm aiming my strike when he veers away from me unexpectedly, lumbering in a different direction, and I recognize the motion. It's Al. The Sledgehammer. That makes no sense. Eric knows he isn't Dauntless material; he would never use him as a helper.

My mind churns through possibilities. Maybe Al was with Tris, and now he's running to save his own life? But I instinctively know that's wrong too. Eric wouldn't strike in front of witnesses, except perhaps a loyal few. And for all his failings, Al has shown strength in standing up to Eric to protect others. I also hear the whisper in the back of my mind that Al likes Tris, _is attracted to her_ , and I know he wouldn't abandon her. I usually hate him for that affection, but right now it just makes things confusing.

But there's no time to dwell on it. I need to focus on the three figures I can see ahead, just visible through the darkness – two men attacking Tris. The tall one will be Eric, but I don't recognize the shorter, heavier man; he's cradling an injured arm and is swearing loudly, so he doesn't seem to be an immediate threat, but I can't dismiss the possibility that he has a weapon. He has his back to Tris, who's on the floor, struggling to remove a blindfold. At least she's clearly still alive.

Eric pulls his foot back and kicks her hard in the side, and a new surge of rage flares through me. It's difficult not to shout in fury, but I know I have to catch him off guard if at all possible. I can take him in an even fight, but right now he's probably armed, and he has help, so the less warning I give him, the better. And there's a chance that all the other noises – the water roaring in the chasm, the swearing still coming from Eric's helper, and Tris' screams – will cover the sound of my running as long as I don't do anything else to draw his attention.

Sure enough, the helper turns back around, obviously not noticing me, and both of them focus on Tris. She pulls herself to her feet, facing her attackers with that strength that is all hers, and I feel my heart twist again. I've never seen anyone as brave as she is – never seen anyone who comes so alive when she should be most afraid. I can't let Eric kill her for that.

He grabs her by the throat, lifting her in a choke hold above the chasm, and the anger and fear blaze through me stronger than ever. But again I keep myself from shouting. She's kicking and fighting back. I still have time.

And then suddenly I'm close enough to see in the dim lighting, and I realize it's not Eric at all. It's Peter. Peter and Drew. My mind reels, trying to make sense of this, before it finally occurs to me that they're attacking her because she's ranked first. It has nothing to do with Divergence, or Eric, or Dauntless leadership. They're trying to kill her out of _jealousy_.

Fury rushes through me, white hot, burning out the fear. I have _never_ been angrier, not even when my father beat me until I couldn't move, not even when he beat my mother, which was far worse, not even when I fought Eric to keep him away from Shauna. I can barely see through the rage. A shout tears from my throat, and I'm dimly aware that Peter jumps and stares my way…and then drops Tris into the chasm as he turns to run.

My heart drops with her.

For a moment, there is nothing else – no passage of time, no movement except her falling, no one except her. I don't even exist. And then she throws her arms forward, catching herself on the railing by her armpits and hooking her elbows in place. She won't be able to stay like that for long, but she's safe for now.

Drew hits me on the mouth. I didn't even notice him approaching. Some distant, objective part of me thinks that he's braver than Peter, trying to face me while Peter runs. But it's _not_ a good idea. I turn on him, grabbing, smashing, throwing, kicking. I don't even know what I do to him, just that nothing is enough punishment for _this_.

Her voice is what finally stops me. "Four." My gaze locks onto her immediately, and terror surges through me as I see her eyes close and her body sag. Lunging toward her, I grab her arms just in time, lifting her over the railing and pulling her against my chest. She makes no attempt to support her weight, and I know she's barely conscious.

Maybe it's just as well – I doubt I could let her go right now. My left arm slides under her legs as my right arm shifts under her shoulders, and I lift her fully into my arms. She presses her face against my shoulder, and her whole body goes limp, unconscious.

* * *

I lose track of time. I'm walking, carrying her, but I don't remember how we got here, and I don't really know where I'm going. It's too hard to think through the haze of adrenaline and fury and fear.

Tris needs help. I know that, but I don't know how much, and it seems to be impossible to stop long enough to evaluate her. Every time I try, the image of Peter dangling her over the chasm engulfs me, and all I can do is hold her closer.

Maybe I should take her to Erudite headquarters. A real doctor could take care of her there, and that would keep her away from this place, where monsters attack girls half their size three against one…. Because I know now that Al was one of the attackers. He would never have run if it had been him and Tris against Peter and Drew. He must have been one of them and then panicked. The betrayal is harsh. I never thought highly of Al, but I certainly didn't expect this.

My feet stop abruptly, and I realize we're outside my apartment. I must have walked here out of habit, but now that I'm here, it occurs to me that I can take care of Tris myself. If she's not too badly injured, she doesn't need the infirmary, and she'll be safer with me. And I won't have to let her out of my sight.

I bring her through the door, kicking it closed behind me, and carry her to my bed. But as I lean over it, I realize there's a small flaw in my plan. I can't seem to put her down. It's stupid, and I know it, but the sheer need to hold her is overpowering.

_Get a grip. Breathe. Focus._ I pull her close for one more moment and then force myself to set her down on the bed carefully, making sure to keep her neck steady. Then I stand there looking at her, trying to assess her injuries without disturbing her, and without touching her in ways she wouldn't appreciate.

Suddenly, I'm nervous. I don't know how to proceed, but my choices are limited – take her to the infirmary or do what I need to help her. And I don't want to leave her in the infirmary. So, I take a deep breath and begin checking for broken bones, my fingers moving gently on top of her clothing. To my relief, there are no breaks and no obvious gushes of blood.

The biggest risk left is a concussion. She's clearly been hit on the head more than once – there's a bruise starting on her cheek and a bump growing rapidly on the top of her head. But her pupils are even and reactive to the flashlight I grab. She's not conscious yet, so I can't be sure, but it looks like she somehow escaped with just bumps and bruises. They're nasty ones, yes, but it could have been so much worse….

Walking across the room, I retrieve an ice pack from the freezer and return to set it gently against the bump growing on her head. That's the one I need to watch the most. My fingers reach to trace it, wanting to magically erase its pain the way my mother seemed to be able to do with me so long ago, but I stop when I see my hands. They're covered in dried blood – mine and Drew's. I smeared some on Tris, too, but it doesn't show much on the dark clothes. I suppose that's one of the reasons Dauntless always wear black. It hides our sins.

For a moment, I just stare, remembering what I did to Drew. The details are still fuzzy, but I know there's no way he can get himself to the infirmary, and I doubt Peter or Al will help him. Tempting as it is, I can't really just leave him there. Besides, part of me wants to make sure he's hurt enough, to make sure he _never_ does something like this again. That thought makes my feet move, back to the chasm and back to his bloody form lying slumped on the ground, whimpering.

He makes excuses as I haul him to the infirmary, saying that they only intended to scare Tris, not really hurt her. I only half listen. There is no justification for what they did.

I literally drop him on the infirmary floor. It's late, so Helena isn't on duty, but the night nurse doesn't even raise an eyebrow – he's clearly used to this. Fighting is part of Dauntless, and we all know it. He doesn't ask any questions, but I want to make sure he _knows_ , so I make a point of saying, loudly so Drew will hear it, "I wouldn't take good care of him. He and two other big guys attacked an initiate, a girl much smaller than him. He's a _coward_."

The nurse's mouth sets in a hard line, and he eyes Drew like he's a pile of slime that fell off someone's shoe onto the floor. As I turn to go, I can't resist leaning over Drew and saying softly, "I expect to see you in training tomorrow. If I don't, you can consider yourself factionless." I can't really enforce that, but it feels good to say it anyway.

I take the long route back, telling myself that I need to walk off the excess energy and aggression so I can calm down. But I know I'm looking for Peter and Al. The need to hurt them is like a physical being, clinging to me and filling my veins. It's probably just as well I don't find them.

When I reach the dormitory door, I pause by it for several minutes, seriously considering hauling them out and beating them to a pulp. But it would give away too much. It would tell Eric that I like Tris, and he's already watching her far too closely. Hell, half an hour ago, I was sure he was trying to kill her – and that was without him knowing…without the added incentive of hurting me in the process. He would certainly go after her if he thought it would break me.

It would.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next few chapters will be coming soon, since I wrote them a long time ago (they were part of my very first "Divergent" fanfiction, which I only ever published on the fanfiction net site), and I just need to revise them to fit the flow better. In the meantime, please let me know what you thought of this chapter. I always appreciate your comments!
> 
> P.S. I'd like to plug a story I just found that I really, really like and that doesn't have nearly as many reviews as it deserves. If you're interested in a creative AU "Divergent" fic, check out "Bitter Cold" by mugglesarah on the fanfiction net site.


	22. Divergent Chapter 22 - Tris Recovers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who reviewed the last chapter! Thank you also to my wonderful beta reader, Rosalie! This chapter is a modified version of one that I originally posted a long time ago as my first ever "Divergent" fanfiction. Now that the rest of the story has caught up to it, I edited it to fit the flow better. Hopefully, it works and doesn't sound out of place with the previous chapters.

  
**"** **Divergent" Chapter 22 - Tris Recovers in Four's Apartment**

_Focus. Breathe. Calm down._ I repeat that over and over as I walk. Finally, it occurs to me that Tris might be awake by now – might have woken up in a strange place with no one there. God, I'm an idiot. I return to my apartment quickly, sliding through the door and latching my eyes onto her instantly.

She's still unconscious. I'm not sure whether to be relieved or worried. It's been almost forty-five minutes now. I check her breathing and find it smooth and regular. She seems to be all right – well, as all right as she can be under the circumstances. The ice pack is warming up, though, so I put it back in the freezer. It's time for a cycle without the cold anyway.

My hands catch my attention again, and I walk into the bathroom to wash the blood off them. Focusing on breathing slowly, I scrub each finger thoroughly while I put myself through my calming routine, pushing the emotions down. I've already allowed them to vent for too long. Now, everything needs to be about _her_ , about taking care of _her_.

I focus just on that, and feel the calm settle through me as I examine my cuts. Every knuckle is split, but that's nothing new. There's a cut on the corner of my mouth, too, but it will heal fine. I turn off the water and dry my hands, return to the room, and retrieve a fresh ice pack from the refrigerator.

As I'm walking back to Tris, our eyes meet. _She's awake._ Relief floods through me, but I keep my face still. It's already strange that I brought her back here, instead of to the infirmary. I need to play this right.

"Your hands," she croaks, and it takes me a moment to realize that she's actually worried about _me_. She almost died. She was strangled until she can barely talk, and then she was dropped into the chasm, yet her first thought on waking up is to worry about my knuckles? I almost sigh. She still has _way_ too much Abnegation in her.

"My hands are none of your concern." I say it more roughly than I intended, but she needs to think about herself right now. Besides, I need to stay calm, and I'm not sure I can do that if she keeps looking at me like that. Like my injuries mean more to her than her own, like I mean more to her...

I stop the thought and lean over her, putting my knee on the mattress while I slip the ice pack under her head again. As I do, she reaches up, her hand hesitating for a moment, and then touches the corner of my mouth. My insides freeze and heat up at the same time, and I stare at her as I've done twice today.

At least her eyes are moving normally…. I force myself to focus on that fact, to confirm there's no concussion. Finally, I speak through her fingers. "Tris, I'm all right."

"Why were you there?" she asks, letting her hand drop onto the bed again.

"I was coming back from the control room. I heard a scream." _Your_ scream.

"What did you do to them?" she asks. I wish she hadn't. I don't know how I feel about it. I've never beaten someone like I did Drew, and in some ways it makes me feel like my father, but at the same time it doesn't feel like enough – not nearly enough.

"I deposited Drew at the infirmary a half hour ago. Peter and Al ran. Drew claimed they were just trying to scare you. At least, I think that's what he was trying to say." My voice stays steadier than I expected. The expression on her face is hard to read.

"He's in bad shape?" she asks fiercely. That's the expression: hatred, vindication.

"He'll live." I can't keep the bitterness out of my voice. I'm not a killer, but I won't celebrate Drew's continued existence. "In what condition, I can't say."

Her face goes fiercer for a moment, triumphant, and she grabs my arm, squeezing hard. "Good," she says. Her expression is hard and angry, but then she starts crying. I've never really understood tears. I stopped letting myself cry after my mother died…supposedly died.

I watch Tris for a moment, trying to figure out what to do next. Finally, I pull my arm free, intending to adjust the ice pack, but instead my hand is suddenly cradling her face. I didn't mean to do that, but I shouldn't be surprised. It's not like I have much self-control around her on a good day, let alone right now.

Keeping my expression still, I move my thumb lightly across her cheekbone, staying well away from the bruise that's already starting to form on her other cheek. She can't be any more familiar with touching than I am, coming from Abnegation. If I keep this casual, maybe she'll think it's normal, and I can get away with it for now. Maybe.

She's certainly not dumb, though. Sooner or later she's going to notice that I never touch anyone else. Only her.

"I could report this," I say, trying to take my mind off her smooth skin and focus it back on the attack. The leaders would undoubtedly ignore any report I file the same as they did with Edward, but I'll certainly proceed if she wants.

"No," she replies quickly. "I don't want them to think I'm scared."

I nod, my thumb still moving back and forth over her cheekbone. "I figured you would say that." She's too brave for her own good.

"You think it would be a bad idea if I sat up?" she asks. _Probably_ , I think, but I'm running out of ways to keep my hand on her cheek casual, and this is a good excuse to change position.

"I'll help you." I hold her shoulder firmly with one hand and her head with the other, keeping her neck steady as she pushes herself up. She winces, clearly in pain, and stifles a groan.

As I hand her the ice pack, I say, "You can let yourself be in pain. It's just me here." _And I'm on your side._ I hope she knows how much.

She bites her lip, looking unsure if she should trust my statement…if it's really okay to show weakness around one of her instructors. That, I suppose, is the core of the problem. I'm still her instructor. As much as I want to be something more, of course she's going to see me that way.

"I suggest you rely on your transfer friends to protect you from now on." It's difficult to trust that role to anyone except me, but I know she'll need those friends as long as she's stuck in the same dormitory as the people who attacked her.

"I thought I was," she says, pressing her hand to her forehead and rocking slowly back and forth. She jolts forward with a sob. "But Al…."

_Dumb._ So dumb. How could I suggest she rely on her transfer friends right after Al almost killed her? What is wrong with me?

But I do get it, even if I'm slow about it. She's trying to understand what happened – why Al did what he did. She can't trust her other friends until she understands that.

"He wanted you to be the small, quiet girl from Abnegation," I say softly. "He hurt you because your strength made him feel weak. No other reason."

She nods slowly. Again, the motion clearly hurts. I wish she would talk instead of nodding, but I can see that she's struggling to come up with words. She's been betrayed, and she doesn't know how to move forward. I can at least give her a path….

"The others won't be as jealous if you show some vulnerability," I tell her. "Even if it isn't real."

"You think I have to _pretend_ to be vulnerable?" Her tone is incredulous, and she raises an eyebrow in disbelief. That catches me off guard. Of course she has to pretend. She's rock solid Dauntless, braver than anyone I've ever met. It didn't even occur to me that she didn't know that. But then again, I think of myself as being afraid most of the time, yet I have the fewest fears on record. I guess we don't always perceive ourselves accurately.

"Yes, I do," I say simply as I take the ice pack from her hand – she's clearly having trouble holding it. It's hard not to shiver when my fingers brush against hers lightly in the process, but I force myself to ignore the contact and instead stand up, reaching across the bed to hold the pack in place myself.

"You're going to want to march into breakfast tomorrow," I continue firmly, "and show your attackers they had no effect on you, but you should let that bruise show, and keep your head down."

She looks nauseated. "I don't think I can do that," she says, her voice empty, and she raises her eyes to mine.

"You have to," I insist. She needs to listen, to understand. She needs to stay safe.

"I don't think you _get_ it," she says softly, her voice barely above a whisper. Her face flushes unexpectedly. "They touched me."

It's as if the floor drops away from beneath my feet. I'm filled with vertigo and gut-wrenching shock, and then just as suddenly, the rage is back, filling every part of my body and mind and soul. I can feel every muscle in me go stiff, like ice has frozen me to my core.

" _Touched_ you," I manage to say, the words barely emerging from my clenched jaws.

She's staring at me, but I can't get my emotions back under control. "Not…in the way you're thinking," she says finally, and clears her throat. "But…almost."

She looks away, and I'm glad. My muscles are locked, and I don't know how my heart can be pounding so hard when it has also completely stopped. I don't know exactly what she means by 'touched,' but the images flooding through me evoke hatred beyond anything I've even imagined before.

I will _kill_ them. In a violent, bloody way. I will tear them slowly apart with my bare fingers until there is nothing left but shreds. I will make sure that they _never_ , _ever_ come near the woman I love again.

My thoughts stop cold.

When did I get to _love_? I haven't even told her I _like_ her, don't even know if she likes me, and suddenly I'm thinking love? As if I know anything about it…. I've only ever loved two people, and one of them beat me while the other abandoned me.

Still, even as part of me tries to protest, I know it's true. Somehow, at some point, I crossed that line.

Oddly, the thought helps me focus. If Eric suspects how I feel, he will make it his mission in life to end hers. So, I can't slip up. I can't do anything to Peter or Al, or anything more to Drew. For Tris' sake, I have to leave them alone.

It's wrong. It's so unjust that it sickens me, but I swallow the bile and force my mind forward. I have to keep Tris safe. That's all that really matters. And I have to do it through other people. There's only a week of initiation left. She just needs to get through that week.

It's not until I see Tris looking at me that I realize how long I've been silent. "What is it?" she asks, and for a moment I can't put my thoughts into words.

"I don't want to say this…" I finally begin. And I truly don't. "But I feel like I have to. It is more important for you to be safe than right, for the time being. Understand?"

She's clearly uncomfortable with my words, and I certainly don't blame her. I am too, but there's no real choice.

Finally, she nods. She winces very slightly as she does, reminding me that her head still hurts. It still pounds from what they did, and I can't quite stop my anger from slipping through….

"But please, when you see an opportunity…." My hand is on her cheek again, and I tilt her head up carefully so our eyes meet. I can feel the ferocious desire for justice, and undoubtedly for revenge, gripping me. " _Ruin them._ "

She laughs shakily. "You're a little scary, Four."

Suddenly, I hate that name – hate everything it represents. It's my Dauntless name, and Dauntless is doing this to her. Dauntless turned the initiates into monsters who attacked her three against one. Dauntless is keeping me from reporting them, from doing anything to them, from protecting her. I have never been so ashamed of my faction.

"Do me a favor," I find myself saying, "and don't call me that."

"What should I call you, then?" she asks, and I feel stupid again. I can't tell her my real name yet. Almost no one here knows it, and if she starts using it, Eric will know for certain that there's something between us.

"Nothing," I say, not having a better answer. I pull my hand away from her face and immediately feel the lack of her warmth. And in that moment, a certainty settles through me. I need to find a way to tell her who I really am. It can't happen yet, but soon I need to find a way to tell her everything.

My eyes find hers again, and I add that final thought. "Yet."

__

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will probably be posted by the end of the weekend. In the meantime, please let me know what you thought of this chapter. Also, I'm thinking about writing the manifesto for the faction that the main characters live in at the end of my "Determinant" story. If you'd be interested in reading that, please speak up. I'd probably post it as chapter 50 of "Determinant." Thanks!


	23. Divergent Chapter 23 - Next Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who reviewed the last chapter! Thank you also to my amazing beta reader, Rosalie!
> 
> I'd like to take a moment to clear up any confusion over this fic versus the "Part 2" fic that's only on the fanfiction net site. I originally wrote parts of this story as standalone fics a long time ago (they were my first "Divergent" fics). I later started writing the story from beginning to end, but I left the other chapters out there as Part 2. As this story catches up to them, I'm revising those chapters and am moving them here (and deleting them from Part 2). The first part of this chapter falls into that category, while the second part is new.
> 
> This story will continue at least through the end of "Divergent," at which point everything that's currently in Part 2 will be here. I will probably continue through the first part of "Insurgent," up to the point where Wee Kraken's "Killing Four" story begins. I like that story a lot and feel like it's very similar to what I would write, so I'm not likely to continue "Insurgent" past that point.
> 
> Hopefully, that answers some questions I've been getting in guest reviews...

**"** **Divergent" Chapter 23 - Next Day**

She sleeps on my bed that night, while I take the floor. Fortunately, it isn't hard to convince her, since she knows it would be foolish to return to the dorm. But I'm glad she's staying here. I don't think I could have let her out of my sight.

I leave the bathroom light on in case she needs anything, and to make it easier to check the ice pack during the night. Given how difficult it's been to sleep all week, I don't expect to have any luck now, with her so close and with everything that just happened. But her presence is unexpectedly relaxing, and I drift off quickly. My dreams are troubled, though.

The first one is no surprise. I dream that she's being attacked again, by Eric this time. I'm running to reach her, to save her, but I'm too late. When I get there, I stare at her broken body at the bottom of the chasm. I wake abruptly, unsure if I cried out. I usually don't, having learned to keep my nightmares quiet years ago, to keep my father from hearing.

It's difficult to fall back asleep after that, and I finally have to get up to see her, just to make sure she's still safe. I watch her for a while, changing her ice pack to give myself an excuse in case she wakes up. My fingers linger near her hair.

The second dream is unexpected. I'm back in Abnegation, watching Tris and her brother walk down the street. She looks like she does now, while her older brother looks the way he did when I last saw him two years ago. I suppose that should seem odd, but sometimes that's how dreams are. I stare at her, unable to look away, and my father sees me. It's been a long time since he beat me that badly in a dream. At the end, when I can no longer move, he changes into Eric, leans over me, and whispers, "Now, it's on to Tris."

At least it's easier to fall back asleep this time. My father is an old familiar in my nightmares, after all, and despite everything, Eric has never made it into my fear landscape. I wonder vaguely if he'll be there now, hurting Tris the way he's been doing in my mind all week, but ultimately I'm able to slow my breathing and sleep again.

The third dream goes a different direction. This time, Tris and I are together, somewhere safe. I don't know where – nowhere familiar, since I've never been truly safe in my life. We're alone, and her lips are on mine, our bodies pressed together, intertwined, all of my inhibitions gone…. This time, I wake slowly, and lie there savoring the feeling of the dream. It takes me a while to identify the emotion. I've felt it so rarely, and never so intensely. _Joy_.

I don't go back to sleep after that. The feeling is too good to follow with anything else. Instead, I wait until I can stop grinning and then get up, my eyes hanging on Tris. I change her ice pack and then simply watch her again, for a long time.

I feel torn. A very large part of me wants to tell her how I feel, but the small rational voice in the back of my head says I should wait until after initiation. It's only another week, and then I won't be her instructor anymore. And she won't be at Eric's mercy so fully, and won't be sleeping in the same room as people who are willing to kill her. Still, it's so hard to wait, particularly when I know how much can happen in a week.

In an hour, she'll go into the dining hall and act weak to elicit sympathy from her friends, and Will and Uriah already watch her more than I like. Much more.

Eventually, I grab some clean clothes and head into the bathroom to shower. That's usually a fast process, but today I turn the water cold and just stand in it, letting it clear my mind. As much as I want to confess everything to Tris right now, I know it would be better for her if I wait. And I won't be selfish about this.

When I leave the bathroom, fully dressed, I see Tris standing on tiptoe in front of the small mirror I have on the wall – my personal mix of Dauntless and Abnegation. It's too high up for her, and for a moment I think about how I'll need to lower it, or add a second one, for her to use whenever she's here. But it's a foolish thought, and I push it away, using the towel that's still in my hand to dry my hair and hide my face.

When I lower the towel, I see Tris staring at the hem of my shirt, an undefined expression on her face. Something about it sends a surge through my stomach, but it's definitely a pleasant one, and as I did yesterday, I think that maybe she does like me after all. God, I hope so.

"Hi," she says, her voice tight.

I move close, letting my hand reach for her again, my fingertips brushing gently over the bruise on her cheek. "Not bad," I say. "How's your head?"

"Fine," she answers, running her fingers over the bump that's visible through her thick hair. She winces, and it's obvious she's lying about how it feels, but I don't call her on it.

Instead, my hand drops to her injured ribs. Every muscle in her body tenses…but not with fear or pain I think. With something else, and again I feel a rush of hope. "And your side?" I ask, my voice low.

"Only hurts when I breathe," she answers.

I smile. "Not much you can do about that," I reply easily. I haven't moved my hand.

"Peter would probably throw a party if I stopped breathing," she says with a touch of humor. I'd kill him if he did, but I keep my voice light.

"Well, I would only go if there was cake."

She laughs and then winces, her hand dropping automatically to her side and landing right on top of mine. Electricity shoots through me. I savor it for just a moment and then slowly slide my hand from under hers, my fingertips brushing her side gently.

Everything in me wants to ignore the outside world and stay here with Tris, but it's time to face the day. So, I nod a little, vaguely, and lead the way out, aware of her right behind me. I'm always aware of her.

"I'll go in first," I tell her as we pause outside the dining hall. She nods, obviously knowing it wouldn't be good for us to walk in together. "See you soon, Tris," I add with a half smile, before I walk through the doors.

My mood changes the moment I spot Peter. He's sitting at a table, looking perfectly normal and relaxed, and it's extremely difficult to resist the urge to smear him across the floor. He would leave such a satisfying red streak.

For a second, our eyes meet, and I notice the slightest jump to his movements. He's good at hiding it, but he's definitely scared of me. _Good._ If that keeps him away from Tris, it'll work for now.

I grab my food and fall into a chair across from Zeke and Shauna, facing toward the door. Tris has already entered the room, and I watch as she makes her way slowly to the table where Christina and Will sit. Not surprisingly, Al is nowhere to be seen.

Tris is making no attempt to hide her injuries, but to her credit she doesn't look like she's faking anything either. She's convincing.

Across from me, Zeke gives up trying to greet me and turns to see what I'm looking at. I don't have to see his expression to know his reaction.

"Shit," he says tensely. "What happened to her?"

"Eric didn't do that, did he?" Shauna asks sharply, her voice laced with fear. She's never entirely gotten over what he tried to do to her.

"No," I answer coldly. "Peter _and_ Drew _and_ Al did that." They both stare at me, but I keep watching Tris.

By now, she's sitting next to her transfer friends, and I see a very concerned Uriah slide into the seat next to her. My eyes flit to Zeke for a split second, hoping he had a chance to talk to his brother already, but I don't let myself focus on that thought.

"Four, what exactly happened?" Shauna asks fiercely, forcing my attention to her.

"What do you think?" I respond just as fiercely. "Apparently, we've become the faction of _cowards_ who think it's perfectly fine to gang up on someone just because she ranked first."

Shauna's mouth sets, and I can see the cold fury in Zeke's eyes.

"Seems like maybe the _true_ members of this faction need to teach them otherwise," he says savagely.

Our eyes meet, and I feel the corner of my mouth lift in deadly agreement. "I already got one of them," I tell him levelly, "but you're welcome to the other two."

As if to emphasize my words, Drew picks that particular moment to enter the room. It's a rather spectacular entrance.

He shuffles in, limping badly and keeping his eyes glued to the floor submissively, but it does little to hide the severe bruises that cover every visible part of him. His lip is split and swollen, and there's a slice through his eyebrow, and his entire face is a massive, purple mess.

"Guess we don't have to ask which one you got," Shauna mutters in awe, and I feel a satisfied smile form on my face.

"Trust me," I say, "he deserved worse than that."

I miss Shauna's response, because in that moment Tris looks across the room at me, and our eyes meet in silent acknowledgement that _I_ did this, and that she's glad of it. I give her the tiniest of nods before focusing on Zeke and Shauna again.

"Peter was the ringleader," I say simply, "if you're interested in knowing that." Meeting Zeke's gaze, I add, "I start half shifts in the control room again tomorrow night, in case there's something you'd like to do while I'm the one watching."

He grins as I continue, my tone more reluctant now. "Just don't mention me." Shauna frowns at that, but Zeke nods, and I know he understands the need for that particular restriction.

"How did you come across them?" he asks curiously.

"Couldn't sleep," I mutter, suddenly remembering the scene I glimpsed between Eric and Jeanine. I'll have to watch that footage tomorrow night, but for now I clear my throat and continue. "I came across them in the Pit, as Peter dangled Tris over the chasm – by her throat."

Shauna's hands form into fists, and she turns toward Peter automatically, her entire expression livid. Zeke's might be even worse, but I can't tell because his back is now to me.

For a few minutes more, we sit together, glancing at Peter periodically. No one talks through the collective anger hanging over our table, but we finish eating. After all, it's important to keep up one's strength in Dauntless.

"Time to start the morning lesson," I tell them when I'm finished, and they just nod in farewell.

I stand between the tables, infusing my body language with my instructor presence, and the people on both sides of me fall silent.

"Transfers," I state loudly, "we're doing something different today. Follow me." And they do, as I lead them out of the dining hall and up the paths surrounding the Pit. This is the route I raced down last night, trying desperately to reach Tris in time, and for a while I'm careful to face straight ahead so the initiates can't see my expression.

Behind me, I hear chatter, though it's subdued. Even Christina isn't audible enough for me to understand. But that's okay. We're getting far above the floor now, on this narrow path with no handrails, and I concentrate on my breathing to ignore how the height makes my stomach churn.

Eventually, I turn to the group, walking backwards in order to push myself. My eyes fall on Drew, who is at the very back, clearly struggling to move.

"Pick up the pace, Drew!" I shout at him, watching with satisfaction as he jumps a little and tries to hurry. It obviously increases his pain.

Instinctively, my eyes seek out Tris, wanting to see her reaction, but I instantly wish I hadn't. She's walking closely beside Will, her hand around his arm, and the sight drains all humor from me.

 _No._ She doesn't belong with _him_.

I turn back around, trying to regulate my breathing as I continue my relentless march upwards. This isn't fair. Will abandoned her, just because she outranked him. He doesn't deserve her. If I'm going to lose her to anyone, it should at least be Uriah…. Not that I want to lose her at all.

But slowly reason begins to work its way through the blind jealousy filling my mind. One of Will's simulations was particularly difficult for me, since it was a fear I shared. He's afraid of heights. And as I focus on the image now burned into my brain – of Tris holding his arm – I realize that could easily be a gesture of comfort rather than affection. There's no reason to assume the worst.

I take another deep breath, pushing my emotions down and resuming my instructor face, as I reach the top of the winding path and begin climbing the metal stairs that lead to the glass floor of the Pire.

By the time we're at the top, I have my reaction fully under control, and I lead the way through the Dauntless members who are scattered around the room, with no worry about what my face is showing.

The initiates follow me to the fear landscape room, and I lead them into its dank interior. It always amazes me how outdated and abandoned this place feels when it's not in use. The walls are covered with graffiti and exposed pipes, and the ancient fluorescent lights barely work.

The initiates must be thinking something similar, because they look around uncertainly, presumably wondering what we could possibly be doing in this musty old room. As I watch them, I can't help but notice that Tris is no longer touching Will, and I hope that means I was right that she was just comforting him earlier. I allow that sense of relief to buoy me as I begin this morning's lecture.

"This is a different kind of simulation known as the fear landscape. It has been disabled for our purposes, so this isn't what it will be like the next time you see it." My eyes roam the group, making sure I have their attention before I continue.

"Through your simulations, we have stored data about your worst fears. The fear landscape accesses that data and presents you with a series of virtual obstacles. Some of the obstacles will be fears you previously faced in your simulations. Some may be new fears."

My eyes pause on Tris as I add, "The difference is that you are aware, in the fear landscape, that it is a simulation, so you will have all your wits about you as you go through it."

Forcing my gaze to travel evenly over the group again, I continue, "The number of fears you have in your landscape varies according to how many you have." The initiates' faces set in various grim expressions as they each think about how many they'll have, and I wait for someone to ask how many I have. That came up last year, but this year everyone stays silent.

"I told you before that the third stage of initiation focuses on mental preparation," I state. "That is because it requires you to control both your emotions and your body – to combine the physical abilities you learned in stage one with the emotional mastery you learned in stage two. To keep a level head."

At that moment, one of the fluorescent tubes begins flickering, causing light to reflect off Tris' hair, and I find my eyes resting on her.

"Next week you will go through your fear landscape as quickly as possible in front of a panel of Dauntless leaders. That will be your final test, which determines your ranking for stage three. Just as stage two of initiation is weighted more heavily than stage one, stage three is weighted heaviest of all. Understood?"

They all nod, even Drew, whose eyes are still fixed on the floor.

I can't stop myself from looking at Tris as I continue, "You can get past each obstacle in one of two ways." This is contrary to the reminder I've been giving her all week. "Either you find a way to calm down enough that the simulation registers a normal, steady heartbeat, or you find a way to face your fear, which can force the simulation to move on."

For good measure, I decide to provide an example based on one of Tris' fears. She needs to know exactly what she's allowed to do in the landscape. "One way to face a fear of drowning is to swim deeper, for example."

I shrug, making myself look around the group again. "So I suggest that you take the next week to consider your fears and develop strategies to face them."

"That doesn't sound fair," Peter says abruptly, and my eyes snap to him. "What if one person only has seven fears and someone else has twenty? That's not their fault."

For several very long seconds, all I can do is stare at Peter while I try to wipe the image of what he did to Tris from my mind long enough to avoid killing him. It's so difficult to leave him alone. But maybe there's another way I can achieve a small amount of justice here….

I laugh at him. "Do you really want to talk to me about what's fair?" I ask scathingly as I start walking menacingly toward him. The group parts rapidly to allow me through.

Stopping a foot away from him, I cross my arms over my chest to keep them off his neck. My voice is deadly when I speak.

"So now we all know that you are afraid of a short, skinny girl from Abnegation." I let my mouth curl into a scornful smile.

Peter stares back at me, and I can see that he's working hard to keep his face expressionless. But I know I've wounded his pride – and scared him a little. Satisfaction goes through me, but I don't let myself react to it. Instead, I continue to look contemptuously at Peter until he finally turns away.

Only then do I allow myself to glance at Tris. She's smiling, and beside her I can see Christina suppressing laughter. But the rock sinks into my stomach again when I look at Will. He's standing on Tris' other side with his arm around her, and while she's not returning the gesture, she isn't objecting to it, either.

And there's no excuse I can give myself – nothing to convince me that it's not a display of affection. It feels like I've been punched hard in the gut.

I'm not sure what I say as I dismiss the group, but I don't watch them as they leave. I haven't been through my fear landscape since training began. Maybe this is a good time to add insult to injury….

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please take a moment to review this chapter. I read every review and really, really appreciate them. They motivate me to write even when my schedule is crazy busy. So thank you for them!


	24. Divergent Chapter 24 - Al

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first part of this chapter needs a warning for showing the graphic aftermath of a suicide. If you're sensitive to that, please skip down to the line break.

**"** **Divergent" Chapter 24 - Al**

The pounding on my door interrupts my latest nightmare. The details disappear the moment my eyes open, and all I can remember is that Will was watching while Peter attacked Tris.

"Four!" a voice yells, and I yank some pants on before swinging the door open. Zeke is standing there, looking flushed and breathing heavily.

"Chasm," he gasps, clearly very out of breath. "Initiate." A surge of wild, uncontrolled panic rushes through me. _What did they do to Tris?_

But Zeke must see my expression, because he shakes his head quickly. "Not her," he pants. "Big guy. Suicide."

Suddenly, it becomes clear. "Al?" I ask, knowing it has to be him. The guilt over what he did must have gotten to him. Zeke nods and then falls into step beside me as I begin moving rapidly toward the Pit. There's nothing I can do for Al at this point, but I need to be there anyway.

I don't know how I feel about this. The Abnegation in me says I should forgive Al for his mistakes and pray for his soul now that he's dead. But the Dauntless in me snarls that he made his own choices, both when he betrayed his friend and tried to kill her, and when he took his own life – and that both actions were cowardly.

If he'd truly regretted how much he hurt Tris, he should have gone factionless. If he'd killed himself after that, no one here would even have found out about it. And then Tris wouldn't have been left with the guilt she'll undoubtedly feel now – as if Al's decisions were somehow her fault.

Zeke stops when we reach a branch in the hallway. "I have…to get back…to the control room," he pants, still out of breath. "I already…alerted Security…and I'm sure…they told the leaders…so you don't need…to notify anyone." His expression is somber as he adds, "But I thought…you should hear it from me."

It takes a moment for his words to click. And then I understand.

"Did you see it happen?" I ask, knowing that if he was on duty, he must have.

His pained expression answers me. "I couldn't…get there…in time," he says, and I can see the shock still present in his eyes. He doesn't know how to deal with this any more than I do.

I almost never touch anyone voluntarily, except for Tris, but I clasp Zeke's shoulder now. "You couldn't have stopped him," I say in the closest I get to a gentle tone.

Zeke nods, but he's looking down, and I know he'll never fully believe that statement.

I give his shoulder a squeeze. "Thanks for getting me." He nods again before heading down the other branch of the hallway, and I continue toward the Pit. I don't want to face this, but I move forward anyway.

Two Dauntless security officers are standing at the railing, looking down into the chasm.

"Gonna be a bear to lug him up," one of them says, her voice sounding more annoyed than anything else. "We'll have to get help."

"Flip you for who has to tie the ropes around him," the other says, giving a laugh that sounds grossly out of place right now.

" _I'll_ do that," I say in disgust as I brush past them, not even bothering to look down before making my way along the familiar path to the bottom of the chasm. There's no point in looking – I know what awaits me.

Al's body lies across the jagged rocks, soaked by the spray of water that's foaming up around him. The foam itself is a sick pink color from his blood, and the water downstream of him is red. For a moment, the sight turns my stomach, but I force the nausea down.

I've lost people before – particularly my mother, or so I thought at the time, and Amar. And every time I've gone through my fear landscape, I've had to kill a woman, watching as she collapsed from my bullet. But I've never seen _this_ before – true death up close. It's harder to look at than I expected.

"Ready?" I hear echoing down the chasm from above, and I look up to see that the two security guards are holding ropes, waiting to toss them over the railing.

"Yeah," I shout back, even though it's not remotely true.

Heavy ropes bounce down the rock face, whistling and thumping as they go, and I step back to ensure they don't smash into me as they land. One of them hits Al's body, sounding like a whip slicing its target, and the other lands beside him, splashing bloody water all over me. My stomach twists again as I look down, watching the red liquid drain slowly off my bare feet. I didn't stop to put shoes on before leaving my apartment.

I try not to really look at Al as I shift his body from side to side, tying the ropes securely around him so he can be hoisted back up to the floor of the Pit. I always knew that he was big, even by Dauntless standards, but I didn't fully appreciate how large until now. It takes my full strength to lift him enough to get the ropes under him, and there's no way to avoid smearing blood all over myself in the process. In a way, it seems fitting.

I can't help but wonder how much of this is my fault. The brutal training methods certainly weren't my choice, but could I have guided Al better – helped him face his fears without betraying Tris? Would Amar have found a way to do it if he'd been here?

Al's fears play through my head one by one as I tie the ropes in place, and for each of them, I try to think of what I could have done or said differently. But there's nothing obvious. Al was never suited to this faction, at least not the way it is now.

"He's ready," I shout up to the security guards, but I can't tell if they're still there. All I can see are two large men pressed against the railing, and glimpses of a crowd gathering behind them. The Dauntless do love a good death, I think in disgust.

Someone starts hauling Al upwards, and I step back out of the way. The body rises slowly, lifting first into a standing position, and for one brief moment, it almost looks like he's alive. But then he's hanging in the air, dripping red water below him like rain, and it changes to a grisly sight that emanates nothing but death.

Every part of me wants to turn away – to retreat into my private spot that's not too far from here, but I won't associate it with this moment. So instead, I force myself to watch the entire process, as Al's body is painstakingly lugged up the rock wall and over the railing. Even from this distance, I can hear the loud thump as it hits the floor. Somehow, the roar of the water doesn't cover it.

Maybe if I'd gotten a hold of him that night and had beaten him the way I did Drew, this wouldn't have happened. It might have satisfied his need to be punished for his actions….

But there's no way to know now.

My eyes turn to the water again, watching as the red slowly washes off the rocks until there's no longer any trace of the initiate who died here. Erased as if he never existed.

The Abnegation say that we should use guilt as a tool – that it should remind us to do better next time. I'm not foolish enough to take the full blame for Al's death, but I can't escape my part of it. So, I don't shrink from the blood that is still soaking through my clothing and that still coats my hands. It stains me as it can't stain the unforgiving rocks, and for this moment I let it.

By the time I leave, making my way slowly up the path and back to the floor of the Pit, the crowd has dispersed and the body has been removed. A pool of red is all that remains of my largest initiate. Soon, even that will be gone – washed away by the factionless cleaning crew. I leave footsteps for them to clean, too, as I walk back to my apartment, throwing my clothing into the trash and standing in the shower for longer than I ever have in my life. It feels like the blood will never wash off.

* * *

The funeral is held that day, as it always is. The leaders wait barely long enough for the body to be cremated before starting the service. It seems more than a little ironic that they'll be throwing his ashes back into the spot where he ended his life.

The crowd has gathered again, many of them drunk now. Almost none of them knew Al, but they'll use any occasion to drink, treating the event as if it's a party. I don't have any alcohol, though. I haven't dared to ingest it since whatever I said to Tris that night, and this certainly doesn't seem like the time to start.

People laugh, falling all over each other, and I see several scuffles break out. But I ignore them, watching Eric coldly as I wait for this to be over.

"Quiet down, everyone!" he shouts, and someone sounds a gong to gain the audience's attention. The noise quiets to mutters, which is apparently enough for Eric, because he begins.

"Thank you. As you know, we're here because Albert, an initiate, jumped into the chasm last night. We do not know why, and it would be easy to mourn the loss of him tonight. But we did not choose a life of ease when we became Dauntless. And the truth of it is…." He smiles, and the expression disgusts me, because I know how fake it is. "The truth is, Albert is now exploring an unknown, uncertain place. He leaped into vicious waters to get there. Who among us is brave enough to venture into that darkness without knowing what lies beyond it?"

It's typical Eric, claiming that bravery led to this result, rather than the cruelty and cowardice that I know caused it.

"Albert," he continues, "was not yet one of our members, but we can be assured that he was one of our _bravest_!" He pauses as the crowd shouts its appreciation, whooping and cheering. "We will celebrate him now, and remember him always!"

Someone hands Eric a bottle of beer, and he lifts it in a salute to the chasm. "To Albert the Courageous!" he roars.

"To Albert!" the crowd shouts in return. "Albert! Al-bert! Al-bert!" I wonder how many of these people will even remember the name tomorrow.

As the chanting continues, my eyes catch on a small form making its way out of the crowd and away from the ceremony. I don't even have to see her face to know it's Tris, and I follow her without a second thought.

She walks down a random hallway, stopping by the water fountain at the end of it, and for a long moment, she just stands there, bathed in the blue light from the bulb over her head.

"Tris," I say as I come near, so she won't hear someone approaching without warning. After how she was attacked, she deserves that caution.

She tenses, her body going stiff for a second before she turns around.

"What are you doing here?" she asks, her voice brittle. "Shouldn't you be paying your respects?" She looks like the words leave a bad taste in her mouth.

"Shouldn't you?" I return, stepping closer to her. Pain is obvious in everything about her right now.

"Can't pay respect when you don't have any," she mutters bitterly. But then she shakes her head. "I didn't mean that."

"Ah." It's a word of understanding – nothing more. I know how she feels – how heavily guilt and anger are mixed in both of us right now.

"This is ridiculous," she snaps, red rising in her face. "He throws himself off a ledge and Eric's calling it brave? Eric, who tried to have you throw knives at Al's head?" She looks like she's about to be sick, and her voice gets louder as she continues. "He wasn't brave! He was depressed and a coward and he almost killed me! Is that the kind of thing we respect here?"

I want to tell her that no, it's not, but it's impossible to defend the twisted version of our manifesto that Dauntless has become.

"What do you want them to do?" I ask instead, frustrated and disgusted and hopeless with my faction all at the same time. "Condemn him? Al's already dead. He can't hear it and it's too late." Too late to save a sixteen-year-old's life. Too late to show that I'm any better than the rest of this place. Maybe I'm not.

"It's not _about_ Al," she snaps. "It's about everyone watching! Everyone who now sees hurling themselves into the chasm as a viable option. I mean, why not do it if everyone calls you a hero afterward? Why not do it if everyone will remember your name? It's…I can't…." She shakes her head, clearly at a loss for words, and her face gets even redder from her increasing anger.

"This would _never_ have happened in Abnegation!" she abruptly shouts. "None of it! Never! This place warped him and ruined him, and I don't care if saying that makes me a Stiff. I don't care. I don't _care_!"

My eyes move automatically to the camera above the drinking fountain. I don't know who's on duty in the control room right now, but I'm sure it isn't Zeke. Not after he had the night shift, and not after what he saw.

"Careful, Tris," I warn her.

"Is that all you can say?" she demands, scowling deeply. "That I should be _careful_? That's _it?_ "

The words annoy me far more than they should. It's not like she knows about the cameras or the way the leaders are watching her, but she should at least know to listen to me by now. To trust me. And her stubborn refusal to do so is going to get her killed.

An image flashes through my mind of her body lying broken and bleeding where Al's was, and suddenly _I'm_ snapping at _her_. "You're as bad as the Candor, you know that?"

Grabbing her arm roughly, I drag her down the hallway until we reach a safer spot, and I shove her against the wall, holding her there by her shoulders. I lean close, so near that no one else can possibly hear, and I whisper, "I'm not going to say this again, so listen carefully. They are watching you. _You_ , in particular."

I don't know what reaction I expected, but it wasn't what she says next. "Let go of me." Her voice sounds weak – scared – and instantly my fingers spring apart, and I move back a little, trying to control the sudden pounding in my chest. _I frightened her._

But fortunately, not much. She looks calm again the moment I'm not touching her anymore.

"Are they watching you, too?" she asks very softly.

It's an Abnegation question – discounting the danger she's in and instead worrying about me. I ignore it.

"I keep trying to help you," I say in frustration, "but you refuse to be helped."

Again, her reaction surprises me. "Oh, right," she snarls sarcastically. "Your _help_. Stabbing my ear with a knife and taunting me and yelling at me more than you yell at anyone else. It sure is helpful."

The words sting. Doesn't she have any idea how much I've tried to look out for her? How much I care about her? But it's obvious by her expression that she doesn't. And why would she? I _did_ slice her ear, and I _just_ yelled at her….

Still, I can at least defend myself against the third accusation. "Taunting you?" I ask, trying and failing to control my voice. "You mean when I threw the knives? I wasn't taunting you. I was reminding you that if you failed, someone else would have to take your place."

She seems surprised by that. Cupping the back of her neck, she thinks for a moment. "Why?" she finally asks.

"Because you're from Abnegation," I explain as calmly as I can, "and it's when you're acting selflessly that you are at your bravest."

She's silent for so long that I feel the need to speak again. "If I were you," I add, "I would do a better job of pretending that selfless impulse is going away, because if the wrong people discover it…well, it won't be good for you."

"Why?" she asks again, startled. "Why do they care about my intentions?"

It's hard not to laugh, but of course she has no way of knowing the depth of the danger coming from Erudite these days.

"Intentions are the _only_ thing they care about," I tell her firmly. "They try to make you think they care about what you do, but they don't. They don't want you to act a certain way. They want you to _think_ a certain way. So you're easy to understand. So you won't pose a threat to them."

My breathing is getting hard again, and I know it's because we're standing so close. But I don't dare back away any farther, not when we need to stay this quiet. So, instead, I lean one hand against the wall by her head, resting my weight on it and letting the rough texture distract me from her proximity.

She watches me with a combination of wariness and some other emotion that's hard to identify. It's an almost hungry look.

"I don't understand," she finally says, sounding distracted, "why they care what I think, as long as I'm acting how they want me to."

"You're acting how they want you to now," I respond, "but what happens when your Abnegation-wired brain tells you to do something else, something they don't want?" Even here, I don't dare to say she has a Divergent-wired brain, but I know she understands.

"I might not need you to help me," she says defiantly. "Ever think about that?" Instantly, my frustration is back. She's going to get herself killed, and me along with her, because there's no way I'll just sit back and watch it happen.

"I'm not weak, you know," she continues. "I can do this on my own."

I shake my head, frazzled and annoyed and desperate to make her listen. But I don't know what to say to do that….

Maybe I should try the truth.

"You think my first instinct is to protect you," I begin tensely. "Because you're small, or a girl, or a Stiff. But you're wrong." That catches her attention, and I take advantage of it, leaning my face even closer to hers and wrapping my fingers around her chin. Her eyes brighten, growing wide and fierce as they always do when she should be afraid. They give me the strength to admit the rest of the answer.

"My _first_ instinct is to push you until you break, just to see how hard I have to press." My voice is rough, and my hand squeezes on the word "break," and Tris' whole body goes rigid in response.

I meet her eyes again before adding, "But I resist it." I may have some of my father's instincts, but I am determined not to be him.

For a moment, Tris seems to forget how to breathe. "Why…" she whispers, swallowing hard. "Why is that your first instinct?"

It's hard to explain, but I'm in this far, so I have to come up with words. "Fear doesn't shut you down," I murmur. "It wakes you up. I've seen it. It's fascinating." I let go of her chin, moving my hand lightly along her jaw instead and then down the side of her neck, feeling the incredible electrical pulse that flows across her soft skin.

"Sometimes I just…want to see it again. Want to see you awake."

I'm lost in touching her, and being this close to her, and breathing her air, so I don't know how to react when she abruptly sets her hands on my waist and pulls herself against me, wrapping her arms around my body. Her fingers travel over the muscles of my back, shooting sensations through me, and now _I'm_ the one who can't breathe.

It takes me a moment to respond, before my hands move on their own, as they so often do with her. One presses against the small of her back, holding her close, while the other smoothes her hair.

"Should I be crying?" she asks quietly, her lips moving against my chest. It takes me a second to realize she's talking about Al. With a jump of guilt, I realize she thinks I'm just comforting her for his death. "Is there something wrong with me?" she adds.

"You think I know anything about tears?" I murmur, at a loss on what to say.

"If I had forgiven him," she insists, "do you think he would be alive now?"

"I don't know," I tell her honestly, pressing a hand to her cheek. She turns her face into it.

"I feel like it's my fault," she adds.

"It isn't your fault," I say firmly, touching my forehead to hers. It's a lot of people's fault, including maybe mine and certainly Al's, but it's definitely not hers.

"But I should have. I should have forgiven him."

It's an Abnegation thought, and I counter it with one. "Maybe. Maybe there's more we all could have done, but we just have to let the guilt remind us to do better next time."

She pulls back, and I know she recognized the words. There's no way she wouldn't. They came from her father's lectures, after all.

"What faction did you come from, Four?"

It's an invitation to tell her about myself – to tell her all the things I've been wanting to say. But this isn't the time. Not at Al's funeral. And not ever if she and Will are together.

"It doesn't matter," I say softly, keeping my eyes down. "This is where I am now. Something you would do well to remember for yourself."

I look up again, meeting her eyes, and for a moment, we just stay that way. There are so many conflicting impulses going through me that it's impossible to know what to do. But the desire to be closer finally wins out, and I lean down, touching my lips lightly to her forehead, right between her eyebrows. It's the first time in my life I've kissed anyone, in any form, since I thought my mother died.

Tris closes her eyes and holds me, so I don't move away, staying instead with my lips pressed to her while her hands are on my waist. I'm not sure how long we stand that way, and I don't really care. Time is a meaningless concept anyway.

The noise of the crowd drifting away from the Pit finally separates us. It's not a good idea to be seen together like this, so I reluctantly step back.

"You should go find your friends," I tell her, not wanting to send her to Will but also not wanting to leave her alone while Peter is still around somewhere. But she shakes her head.

"No, I'm going to spend some time with Tori." The statement surprises me, and I suspect Tris sees that in my face, because she flushes slightly.

She hesitates, looking down. "I don't think they've quite noticed it yet, but Christina and Will…could use some time to themselves." Her eyes flit to mine, and she gives a small, knowing smile.

I swallow, standing in silence as I try to absorb what she just said. Before I have a chance to finish, her hand reaches out, squeezing mine briefly, and she walks away in the direction of the Pit. Leaving me standing there in confusion.

If she wants to give Christina and Will time together, she must think that they like each other…. And judging by her expression, she has no objections to that. At all.

_And she wanted me to know that._

I'm not sure I've ever grinned this widely before.

__

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going on a short vacation, so it will probably be a week before the next chapter is posted. In the meantime, please let me know what you thought of this one. Your reviews always motivate me to find time to write, and I could use that this week... Thanks!


	25. Divergent Chapter 25 – Four's Fear Landscape

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this post is a couple of days late - thank you all for your patience, and for your kind reviews from the last chapter! Thank you also to my wonderful beta reader, Rosalie, who fought a difficult work schedule and a last-minute power failure to get this chapter reviewed.

  
**"** **Divergent" Chapter 25 – Four's Fear Landscape**

I spend the rest of the day wandering the Dauntless compound, lost in thought. Planning out the rest of initiation. Debating whether any of the others are likely to do what Al did and what I can do to stop them. Thinking about what Zeke saw and if there's any way to help him deal with it. And mostly, daydreaming about Tris.

After her statement today, I feel like there's less danger of Will or Uriah snatching her up before the end of initiation, and I know that means I should wait to tell her how I feel. But I can't help thinking about it anyway. And with that, I spend hours contemplating all the ways we could hide a relationship and how I would handle the rest of training if that were to occur.

It's certainly not the first time I've thought about that subject. It's been creeping into my thoughts in between fear simulations all week, but it feels different today. Like I'm ready to take action – I just need to figure out how.

Unfortunately, that part is difficult. I've never had a conversation like that before – with anyone, let alone with an initiate I'm training – and it makes me far more nervous than I care to admit. Besides, there's more than just nerves involved; there's also a question of fairness. I can't tell Tris during initiation unless I _know_ she returns my feelings. Otherwise, I could end up pressuring her into something she doesn't want, and I refuse to do that to her.

But I can take the first step now. I can tell her who I really am – where I came from, what my name is, and why I transferred here. None of that is easy to relay, but I have to do it up front. Tris has to know all of that, and I have to see her reaction to it, before we could possibly start a relationship.

So, I walk the streets around our headquarters, trying to plan out how to get Tris away from her friends and begin a conversation like that. It seems like an impossible task. But the longer my feet pound the pavement, the more an idea works its slow way into my consciousness. At first, I reject it, feeling that it would make me look weak, like the scared little boy I know is still deep inside me. But it keeps returning, and the more it does, the more I become convinced it's what I need to do.

By the time I head to dinner, I know it's right. I have no idea how I'll manage to actually do it, but one way or another, I need to show Tris my fear landscape.

* * *

Zeke doesn't show up for dinner, and it's obvious that Shauna is worried about him.

"He said he's not hungry," she mutters, shaking her head a little, and I know why. I can't remember a time when Zeke didn't want to eat.

"It's that damned initiate. I know it is," she adds bitterly, glaring at me like it's my fault. "Zeke says he's okay, but you can see it in his eyes…. He's wondering if he could have done something different and stopped it."

I nod, understanding how he feels – and for that matter, how Shauna feels. She isn't entirely wrong to blame me.

She sighs deeply, staring at her plate as she pushes food around with her fork. "I'm thinking of taking him zip-lining. Maybe it will help him clear his mind." The suggestion makes me stiffen and sends a wave of nausea through my stomach, but I don't say anything. If this is what Zeke needs, I'll find a way to handle it. He's been too good a friend to deserve less.

She pushes her food around a little more before finally looking at me again. "No offense," she says, "but I'd like to take him alone. I can…distract him better when it's just the two of us."

I can't help the relief that goes through me, but I force myself to think past it to evaluate if she's right. But of course she is. My presence would just remind Zeke of the initiates, and that's without even considering that I'd essentially be a third wheel. It's better if he focuses on her.

"I agree," I tell her evenly.

She nods a little, twirling her fork in her potatoes before slowly adding, "We won't be doing anything about Peter, you know. At least not for a while. I can't ask that of Zeke right now."

Something deep inside me deflates, and I can feel my entire body sagging in defeat. Peter should _not_ be getting away with what he did…particularly not because one of his co‑conspirators felt guilty when he didn't. But I can't let him harm anyone else I care about, and for now, that means I have to let this go.

"Yeah," I finally say, tasting the full bitterness of the word. "I understand." Shauna nods again, and I can see the moisture in her eyes before she clearly gives up on the meal and rises to leave.

"See you later, Four."

I stare at my food a little longer, my appetite gone too, before I head out as well. My half-shift in the control room starts soon, after all, and I don't want to be late. Maybe I'll at least get a chance to watch the footage of Eric and Jeanine….

But as it turns out, that's been deleted. It's hardly surprising, but it still adds to the day's frustrations.

So, instead I end up watching the attack on Tris, torturing myself by reviewing it from every angle, trying to see exactly what Peter did to her. Perhaps it's just as well that the area is so dark at night – I'm unable to determine the details that I know would just haunt me if I saw them.

Ironically, the same darkness hides me. There's no way to tell that I'm the one who rescued Tris, and apparently I instinctively avoided the cameras after that, the way I usually do, because there's nothing tell-tale showing that I took her to my apartment. Good. That's one less piece of evidence to let Eric know I like her.

The rest of the shift is uneventful, and I alternate between fantasizing about all the ways I could take revenge on Peter and all the ways to talk to Tris about seeing my fear landscape. But I don't make any progress on either concept, and by the time I drop into my bed, exhausted, I'm not convinced that I'll ever succeed with either goal.

* * *

Ultimately, I decide to leave it up to her. After two days of struggling to come up with a way to invite Tris into my fear landscape, it's a relief to come to that conclusion. There's just no good way to start that conversation. Every approach I've thought of would lead to awkward questions from her, or from the other initiates, or worst of all, from Eric. Instead, I'll make sure she notices me going there, and then it will be her decision whether or not to follow. I don't know which possibility makes me more nervous.

I spend my half-shift in the control room watching her. She spends it with Christina and Will, getting tattoos and later throwing papers into the chasm. I'm curious about that one, but I can't tell what the papers are from the limited camera angles available. I do notice what Tris mentioned, though, as Will and Christina exchange frequent touches. Good. That definitely works for me.

When I finish my shift, I make my way to the floor of the Pit, hanging around as casually as I can while keeping an eye on Tris. She and her friends are still tossing papers, so I wait. It's getting late, though, and the Pit is gradually emptying of people, which means my presence will become more obvious over time. So, I finally take a deep breath and force myself to start.

I begin walking slowly, smoothly from the floor of the Pit up the winding path toward the Pire. I take my time, giving Tris plenty of opportunity to notice me, while watching out of the corner of my eye to see if she does. When I'm half-way up, she moves away from her friends and heads after me. She's made her choice, and apparently I'm it. The thought makes my heart pound harder.

As I get higher off the ground, the anxiety combines with my fear of heights, increasing both and making me doubt my decision. I know this is what I wanted, but that doesn't necessarily mean it's smart. In fact, the longer I climb, the more convinced I become that this is an _idiotic_ idea. Soon, she'll know that I left Abnegation because I'm a coward. She'll look at me with scorn, or even worse, pity. I can't do this….

But I make myself continue at the same pace anyway, reminding myself over and over that she deserves to know who I am. And maybe somehow honesty will work as well this time as it did at Al's service. I focus on the feel of her arms around me then, with my lips on her forehead and her warm body pressed against me, and the memory gives me strength. That's why I'm doing this.

When I finally reach the Pire, I cross the glass floor and go into the monitoring room, programming the computer for my fear landscape. It's a quick process, despite the slight shaking in my hands. It's not going to be easy to share my secrets.

I take one syringe out of the black box I'm carrying and stand, facing the door to the landscape, and I wait. For a moment, there's no sound, and I think maybe she's changed her mind and turned back. Maybe I'll have another night to decide if I really want this. Then I hear her footsteps at the top of the metal stairs, and I know it's time. I don't turn around.

"Since you're here," I say as evenly as I can, "you might as well go in with me." It's one of the hardest things I've ever said.

Her voice is hesitant when she responds. "Into your fear landscape?"

"Yes."

She walks toward me, saying, "I can do that?"

"The serum connects you to the program." It's easier to be calm when I'm explaining technical details. "But the program determines whose landscape you go through. And right now, it's set to put us through mine."

"You would let me see that?" she asks softly. She sounds almost awed.

It's difficult to get myself to answer, and my voice is as quiet as hers when I finally succeed. "Why else do you think I'm going in? There are some things I want to show you."

Finally lifting my eyes enough to see her, I extend my hand and offer her the syringe. But I don't meet her gaze yet. I'm not that brave right now.

She watches me for a moment before tilting her head to the side, exposing her neck. _Accepting my invitation._ I try not to think as I insert the needle and push the contents in. It's too late to turn back now.

My gaze finally rises to her face, and I offer her the black box. She examines the other syringe cautiously.

"I've never done this before," she says quietly. It's clear she wants me to give myself the shot, and I certainly could. I've done it dozens of times, but somehow I need her to do this. I'll be exposing so much of myself tonight – it seems right to start by exposing my throat to her, and trusting it to her hands.

I press my fingernail to my neck and say, "Right here."

She stands on tiptoes to reach. I know I should at least lean over to make it easier for her, but I can't seem to move. So, I just stand there and make her stretch. Her hands shake a little as she inserts the needle, but she does it right, as she usually does with everything. _Please handle this whole simulation right…._

My hands shake too as I put the syringes away in the box and set it by the door. For a moment, I close my eyes, drawing strength from deep inside, and then I turn to her and extend my empty hand. It's not a conscious act, really – I just want her hand in mine to get me through this. She immediately interlaces our fingers, holding on firmly as I open the door, and we enter the dark room.

"See if you can figure out why they call me Four," I murmur as the door clicks shut behind us, leaving us in utter blackness. I feel her move closer to my side – feel the electricity as her arm presses against mine.

"What's your real name?" she asks.

"See if you can figure that out too."

Then, the simulation begins. We're on top of the building, far, far above the ground. The building gets taller every time I come in here, every time I get a little better at handling this fear. That's the nature of the simulation, after all.

The sun glares overhead, and the wind begins, so powerful that I'm sure it's going to blow us right over the edge. Tris leans against me, and I release her hand, placing my arm around her shoulders instead and pulling us together. We're stronger against the wind that way. _I'm_ stronger when we're like this.

The fear has taken full hold now, and it's difficult to breathe. My head spins with vertigo, and I know I'm going to faint, going to lose my balance, going to fall…. I try to force air in and out through my mouth. It would be easier if I could unclench my teeth.

"We have to jump off, right?" she asks, yelling over the wind. _No_ , I think fiercely, _I don't want to do that_ , but I nod.

"On three, okay?" she continues. _I'm not ready yet._ The fear is still too strong. My heart is still pounding too fast. The computer won't register it, and I'll fall forever. I'll die on the street so far below me. But again I nod. Some distant, objective part of my brain knows that she's right and that I should just get this over with.

"One…two… _three_!" she yells, and she begins running toward the edge, pulling me with her. For a moment, panic holds my limbs locked tight, but then I'm running with her, trusting her to lead me. We race off the edge together, hurtling toward the ground in free fall. My heart hammers against my ribs, and I close my eyes tight, thinking over and over, this is a simulation, it isn't real, it isn't real.

Finally, the computer registers that I faced my fear, and the first part of the simulation ends. I'm on the floor, gasping to pull air into my starving lungs. I press a hand to my chest, trying to push away the pain and slow my heartbeat back to normal.

It takes a moment to remember that I'm not alone, before I look over and see Tris crouched on the floor, grinning wildly. Seriously? I know she loves heights, but my fear landscape isn't supposed to be _fun_.

Still, it's impossible to be annoyed at the sight of her smile, and the life blazing from her eyes. They take my thoughts to better places.

She stands up and helps me to my feet. "What's next?" she asks.

"It's—" but I barely start my answer before the first wall appears, smashing into Tris from behind. It pushes her against me, ramming her head into my collarbone. For a split second, I notice the pain, but then my mind is lost in the walls closing around us.

_Tight, so tight._ I pull my arms against me, squeezing into myself so I can fit into the tiny space. As the ceiling drops down, I crouch automatically, knowing I won't fit otherwise. I've been in here enough times to know. Already it feels like I've been in here forever.

"Confinement," Tris says.

My only response is some type of grunting sound. It's impossible to think about anything except the walls and the tightness. There isn't enough room, isn't enough light, isn't enough air. I gasp for breath, feeling panic seize me like physical pain.

"Hey," Tris says softly, soothingly. "It's okay. Here—"

She takes my stiff arms and wraps them around her, inviting me to draw from her strength. I grasp at the opportunity, holding tightly and pressing my cheek to hers. My eyes are squeezed shut, and my breath is coming in ragged gasps as every muscle in my body goes rigid, locked in a fear I can't escape.

"This is the first time I'm happy I'm so small," Tris says with a laugh, but the comment barely registers. All I can notice are the walls.

"Mmhmm," I squeeze out through my tight throat. I don't know how much longer I can stay in here. I need to get out somehow, need to force my way through the walls. I remember finding a crowbar my first time in here. I could try that again now, but I also remember how the ceiling dropped with me that time, and I barely had room to escape. I don't want to do that again.

"We can't break out of here," she says, reading my thoughts. "It's easier to face the fear head on, right? So what you need to do is make the space smaller. Make it worse so it gets better. Right?"

_No_ , I think again. _I can't do that._ As bad as it is now, I can't make it worse. But I know she's right.

"Yes," I manage to say.

"Okay. We'll have to crouch, then," she says. "Ready?" Not even remotely…. But her hands are on my waist, squeezing as she works her way to the floor, pulling me down with her. There can't possibly be enough room to do this, but she twists her body around, forms it into a tight ball with her back against my chest, and somehow we fit. She's sitting on one of my ankles, and my knees are stuck at strange angles, but all I notice is how the ceiling drops down after us, trapping us into an even tighter space than before.

I'm gasping for air again, my face pressed near hers. "Ah," I say, "this is worse. This is definitely…." But she interrupts me.

"Shh. Arms around me."

_Okay._ Even in my panic, I don't hesitate to accept that invitation. I slide my arms around her waist, clutching her to me to help us fit into this miniscule space.

"The simulation measures your fear response," she tells me quietly. I try to focus on her voice. "So if you can calm your heartbeat down, it will move on to the next one. Remember? So try to forget that we're here." Right, sure thing. There aren't walls pressing on every part of me, and a ceiling shutting out all the light and air….

"Yeah?" I breathe harshly against her ear. "That easy, huh?"

"You know," she says almost playfully, as if we're just sitting around somewhere relaxing, "most boys would enjoy being trapped in close quarters with a girl."

A new type of panic mixes in with the fear I'm already fighting. Does she think I'm not interested, just because I'm afraid? I can't let her think that.

I answer a bit too desperately. "Not claustrophobic people, Tris!"

"Okay, okay," she says with a mix of humor and reassurance. _God, Tris, don't play with me here…._ She takes my hand and places it over her heart, pressing it to her so I can feel her heart beat hard and fast against my palm.

"Feel my heartbeat," she instructs me. "Can you feel it?" I can't miss it. It's racing almost as fast as my own. I don't know why, since she's obviously not afraid.

"Yes," I say, confusion mixing in with the fear.

"Feel how steady it is?"

"It's fast," I answer.

"Yes, well," she says quickly, "that has nothing to do with the box." A slight jolt runs through her body as she finishes the statement, as if she's wishing she could retract her words.

That catches my attention through everything else, and I try to focus on what she said. Nothing to do with the box? What does it have to do with, then? Me? She's not afraid of me, is she? _I'm not like my father_ , I think fiercely. You don't need to be afraid of me.

"Every time you feel me breathe, you breathe," she tells me. "Focus on that."

"Okay," I say, determined to try.

She breathes deeply, slowly, again and again, and I make myself breathe with her. It does help a little, though my mind is still flipping wildly through what she said. I need to know what she meant.

After a little while, she speaks again in a calm voice. "Why don't you tell me where this fear comes from. Maybe talking about it will help us…somehow."

I hesitate. This isn't a secret I want to reveal. Of course, I don't want to share _any_ of my secrets, but the whole point of bringing her in here was to do that, to open up the first layer anyway.

"Um…okay," I finally say, breathing with her again, trying to gather the strength to continue. I push the next words out through the fear constricting my chest. "This one is from my fantastic childhood. Childhood punishments. The tiny closet upstairs." Just saying it makes my heart race even faster, makes the memories rush back, makes me feel the walls more than ever.

Tris is silent for a long time while my panic grows. I can feel her muscles clenching a little, but I don't know what to make of that. Finally, she says, "My mother kept our winter coats in our closet." I _really_ don't know what to make of that. Is she trying to joke while I sit here agonizing? Or is she pitying me now and can't think of anything else to say? My breathing is getting rapid again, and I realize this is definitely not helping.

"I don't…" I say, gasping, "I don't really want to talk about it anymore."

"Okay," she answers quickly. "Then…I can talk. Ask me something."

A shaky laugh comes out of me. "Okay," I say, and I ask the first thing that comes to mind. "Why is your heart racing, Tris?"

She cringes. I can feel it through her whole body. "Well, I…" she says slowly, clearly searching for words. "I barely know you," she finally adds, and I realize she isn't just searching for words, she's searching for an excuse. She doesn't want to answer this question.

"I barely know you and I'm crammed up against you in a box, Four, what do you think?" she finally stammers. But that's not right. She already said it had nothing to do with the box. So, it has to do with being crammed up against me? In what way? I can think of two possibilities, and I know which I hope it is….

"If we were in your fear landscape," I ask, "would I be in it?" Would you invite me to see it, like I invited you? Or would I be in it in a different way – with Peter and Drew, trying to hurt you, or like I was in your simulations, smirking as you drowned? Or maybe, just maybe, would you be revealing your feelings to me, afraid of how I might respond?

"I'm not afraid of you," she replies. Her voice is clear and confident, and I believe her.

"Of course you're not," I say, "but that's not what I meant." Well, not entirely. I'm sure my answer doesn't make sense to her, but it doesn't matter. Suddenly, I'm certain, absolutely positive, that her heart is pounding for the same reason mine would be if we were pressed together somewhere else. _She likes me._ She feels at least a little of what I do.

For a moment, I forget where we are, forget the walls around me, forget to be afraid. I laugh with joy, and the walls break apart, falling away and disappearing. We're sitting in a circle of light in the empty landscape, between fears.

I don't want to let go of her now, but I don't have an excuse to hold on, so I sigh and release her. She scrambles to her feet too quickly, brushing herself off as if she somehow became covered in dirt while sitting there. _She's covering._

I climb slowly to my own feet, grinning as I watch her. When she finally looks at me again, nervous energy is written all over her face.

"Maybe you were cut out for Candor," I say, almost laughing, "because you're a terrible liar."

"I think my aptitude test ruled that one out pretty well," she answers, grasping at the chance to change the subject. I almost don't let her, but then I shake my head and respond automatically.

"The aptitude test tells you nothing." Not when you're Divergent, anyway.

She narrows her eyes suspiciously and says, "What are you trying to tell me? Your test isn't the reason you ended up Dauntless?" She looks excited.

"Not exactly, no." I pause. I understand why she's asking. She's Divergent, and she probably suspects I am too. She's right, of course, but that secret is definitely not in my first layer. It's not one I'm willing to reveal today. Still, I suppose I can tell her that my result wasn't Dauntless. She'll know that soon enough anyway.

I begin, "I…." But then the next fear starts, and I remember where we are.

The woman I have to shoot, the one I always have to shoot, is standing there with her gun trained on me. She looks as she always does, her body still and her features plain. I used to wonder why she was so plain, as if she wasn't supposed to be memorable, yet she was the same person every time. Eventually, I realized it's because she's more human to me that way, more like the Abnegation women I saw while growing up.

Abruptly, it occurs to me that maybe that's part of why I find Tris so attractive. She carries all the beauty of Abnegation. But no, it's more than that. I don't associate my previous faction with eyes likes hers, or lips like those….

My gaze shifts to her with that thought, and I see her staring at the woman and at the table with the gun and the single bullet. And I remember that I'm still in my fear landscape.

"You have to kill her," Tris says softly, clearly already understanding this obstacle. She really is frighteningly smart.

"Every single time," I reply.

"She isn't real," Tris whispers.

"She looks real," I answer honestly, biting my lip. "It feels real." Every time I do this, I feel a little more cruel, a little more like a murderer, a little more like my father. It isn't real, but what it does to me is.

"If she was real, she would have killed you already," Tris reassures me. She's right, of course, but logic doesn't play a big role in fear landscapes. Still, I need to face the fear, and I know from experience that it won't get easier if I delay.

"It's okay," I say, nodding. "I'll just…do it. This one's not…not so bad. Not as much panic involved." No, panic isn't really the word for this one. Dread is. This is a soul-damaging fear.

I pick up the gun, open the chamber, and load the bullet. My movements are mechanical, separate from what I'm about to do. The bullet clicks into place, and I take my pose, standing like I do in target practice with my feet apart and both hands holding the gun in front of me. I aim, closing one eye automatically, and breathe, trying to believe that I'm just aiming at a target, not a person.

As I exhale, my finger squeezes the trigger, and then I immediately close my eyes. I don't want to see her fall again. Instead, I listen, hearing the body hit the floor and then letting the gun drop from my hand. My eyes open again, and I stare at the simulated blood. That gets me every time.

"C'mon," Tris says abruptly, pulling my arm. "Let's go. Keep moving." She tugs, and I follow her blindly again, trusting her to lead me away. Somehow, she's still here with me, helping me through this. She's seen three of my worst fears, and she hasn't turned away from me yet. But I know what's next.

Ahead, I see my father's shadow begin to creep around the circle of light. Panic grips me fiercely, and I'm seized by the sudden desire to run out of the fear landscape, to force it to end before Tris sees this. But this is why we're here, so I take a deep breath instead and whisper, "Here we go."

My father emerges into the light, tall and slim, his hair cut Abnegation short. His hands are behind his back, hiding the belt – making him look innocent I suppose, to those who don't know better.

Tris whispers, "Marcus," and I hear the confusion in her voice.

"Here's the part," I say shakily, "where you figure out my name."

My father advances, and I back away slowly. I can't help it. It doesn't seem to matter how strong I am outside of this place, or how much I plan for when I'm here. When I face Marcus, all thoughts leave my head, and I'm a frightened child again, cowering in the face of a certain beating. And this time Tris will see it….

She's looking back and forth between us, putting it all together. My heart sinks even more at the thought, until there's nothing left in me but despair.

"Is he…" she begins, and then it must click for her, because she looks at me and whispers, "Tobias." It's the first time I've heard my name in two years. Coming from her lips, it goes all the way through me and connects to my core. For a moment, the despair lifts just a little.

Then Marcus moves his hands in front of him and begins unwinding the belt from his fist as he watches me predatorily. "This is for your own good," he says viciously, as he always does. His voice echoes, surrounding me in a fear that roots my feet in place. The terror multiplies him, and suddenly there are a dozen versions of him surrounding me, preparing their belts to slice into me.

The hands whip back, ready to strike, and I'm a child again, helpless in the face of my father's wrath. I cower, throwing my arms up to protect my face. The pain is already there, the pain of a hundred, a thousand remembered injuries. I can't breathe.

I hear the belt whistle through the air, hear the crack as it hits, and I cringe from the pain. But there isn't any pain. It didn't hit me. I look up in confusion and see Tris standing between me and Marcus. Her face is fierce and fearless and angry. The belt is wrapped around her wrist, where it struck her when she intervened.

A wave of shock goes through me, making it impossible to think, to even know what I feel. She's facing him, for me.

Tris yanks on the belt savagely, ripping it away from my father's hand. How can she be stronger than him? She unwinds it from her arm, grasps the buckle, and turns it on him, striking him fast and hard. He yells in fury and lunges at her, his fingers like claws reaching for her. The sight unlocks my muscles all at once, and then I'm between them.

For the first time in my life, I face my father, standing up to him as I push Tris behind me. _You don't get to hit her again. You_ _ **never**_ _get to hurt her again._ A tremendous mix of emotion floods me, none of it fear, and abruptly Marcus disappears. The simulation ends, and we're standing in the fear landscape room again, the flickering fluorescents overhead.

I breathe hard, trying to think, but all that comes to mind, over and over, is _I did it. We did it_. For the first time, I truly faced my greatest fear, and it was because of Tris. I stare at her in awe. How did she do that? How did she get _me_ to do that?

A memory flits through me, and with it comes a realization. I told Tris that Al hurt her because her strength made him feel weak, and abruptly I know that my father hit me so many times for that same reason. He needed to make me weaker so that he'd feel strong. But it's the opposite for me. Tris' strength makes me stronger. I almost laugh with relief. In at least this one crucial way, I'm not like my father. And maybe that means it's safe for me to be with Tris.

I turn back to her, suddenly anxious to see her reaction to what just happened. She's looking around in confusion, apparently trying to figure out when the next obstacle will emerge. Finally, she says, "That's it? Those were your worst fears? Why do you only have four…."

"Oh," she says, getting it. "That's why they call you—" but she stops as she turns around and looks at me. The expression on my face must stop her. Given the full range of emotions going through me right now, I have no idea what I'm showing, but whatever it is causes her to look startled and confused. But only that – there's no pity in her eyes.

A second surge of relief rushes through me, mixing with the awe and incredulity, and I'm filled with a sudden desire to pull Tris into my arms and kiss her, just kiss her, forever. But this isn't the place.

Still, I can't resist touching her. The emotional turmoil has left me shaky, so I keep my feet planted and reach out a hand instead. My fingers wrap around her elbow, and I tug her gently toward me. Leaning down, I kiss her cheek, slowly, enjoying the feel of her soft skin against my lips. Then, I bury my face in her neck, hugging her, breathing against her, feeling her energy recharge me….

For a moment, her muscles remain stiff, and then she relaxes and wraps her arms around me. She sighs, and we stand there holding each other.

"Hey," she says softly. "We got through it." As if it was a joint effort. She doesn't have any idea what she's done, or what she's helped me to do. She doesn't have any idea how incredible she is.

I raise my head and look at her, trying to express some portion of what I'm thinking, but no words come. My fingers brush through her silky hair, tucking it behind her ear so I can see her face better. I really do like her face, especially those eyes, and those lips – I've been looking at those lips a lot, and thinking about them even more.

The words still won't come, and I find myself twining her hair around a finger, just looking at her. Finally, I make the understatement of the year. "You got me through it."

"Well," she says a bit nervously, "it's easy to be brave when they're not my fears." There's some truth to that, but it doesn't matter. What she did is still amazing. It seems like forever ago that I was worried about bringing her in here. Now, I'm so glad I did.

Tris drops her hands, brushing them against her pant legs and looking away. And I know it's time for us to go somewhere else – somewhere not associated with fear, or my father, or initiation, or anything else except us. My private spot by the river comes to mind, and I take her hand, twining my fingers with hers.

"Come on," I say. "I have something else to show you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew, that was a very long chapter. I hope it was enjoyable. I know many of you were looking forward to seeing Zeke and Shauna get revenge on Peter, and I know that Roth included a scene like that in her latest "Four" stories. But the problem is I find that contradictory with "Insurgent." Peter has to get away with his attack on Tris so that he feels like they're even after she later shoots him. Then, when she saves his life in Amity, he feels like he owes her. If he doesn't get away with the attack up front, his whole motivation in "Insurgent" would be off, so as much as I'd love to have Zeke and Shauna go after him, I just can't....
> 
> Anyway, please let me know what you thought of this chapter. The next few should be coming pretty quickly together, since I wrote them a while ago and just need to edit them to fit the flow of the rest of the story. There's only one major time gap left to fill in at this point before I'm done with "Divergent." I'm still undecided whether or not to go into "Insurgent." I don't plan to write that entire book from Tobias' POV, since as I've said before, I really like Wee Kraken's "Killing Four" story for that, but I might write the first ten chapters until her story kicks in. If you have an opinion about that, please let me know.
> 
> Thanks again for all the reviews! Those motivate me so much to keep going.


	26. Divergent Chapter 26 - First Kiss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who reviewed the last chapter, and to my wonderful beta reader, Rosalie!

  
**"** **Divergent" Chapter 26 - First Kiss**

I hold Tris' hand the entire walk, matching her pace and hyper-aware of her body next to mine. At one point, I run a fingertip down her palm. I'm not quite sure why I do it, except that I want to, but when she shivers lightly, I want to do it again.

"So…" she says after a while, "four fears."

"Four fears then; four fears now," I confirm with a nod. "They haven't changed, so I keep going in there, but…I still haven't made any progress." Not until you were there, anyway.

"You can't be fearless, remember?" she reminds me. "Because you still care about things. About your life."

"I know," I answer, as I lead her around the edge of the Pit and onto the hidden path down to the river. She looks around curiously, presumably not having noticed this route before. Most people miss it, but it's one of my favorites.

"You were going to tell me about your aptitude test results," she says abruptly. I'm vaguely surprised to realize she's still thinking about that. My mind has definitely been elsewhere.

"Ah." I scratch the back of my neck, debating how to answer, and finally ask, "Does it matter?"

"Yes," she insists. "I want to know."

My lips twitch into a smile. "How demanding you are." But I like her persistence. She's as stubborn as I am.

This isn't the place to answer her. Even though the area is completely deserted, and I'm avoiding the cameras as much as possible, there's still the possibility we could be observed.

So, I wait until we reach the river, and until I've led her onto my favorite perch on a flat rock well away from the path. There's no surveillance equipment here, and the roar of the water will cover anything that could be overheard even if someone were nearby.

We sit down, and I release her hand, knowing that I'll want my hands free for other things soon.

My eyes hold hers for a moment, and then I say, "These are things I don't tell people, you know. Not even my friends." She won't realize, of course, that I've never deliberately revealed my secrets to anyone, ever, until tonight. That I feel closer to her than to anyone else.

Just thinking that makes me nervous – I can't reveal too much, or I'll scare her away. I know that Abnegation fear of intimacy too well.

She clasps her hands together, watching me, waiting, and I finally say, "My result was as expected. Abnegation." I don't tell her that my father prepared me for the test – that he told me how to make sure I got that result so no one would know I'm Divergent. That secret is for another day. This one is bad enough for now.

"Oh." She sounds disappointed, and my heart sinks. Now, she'll realize why I left Abnegation, that I ran away like a coward. Sure enough, she continues, "But you chose Dauntless anyway?"

"Out of necessity," I say quietly. It's a feeble answer, but I don't have another to give.

"Why did you have to leave?" she asks, and I look away. I don't want to see her expression when she figures it out. It's hard to retrace my reasoning from two years ago. Yes, I was scared of my father, _terrified_ , but I didn't have to leave my faction behind.

If I had stayed in Abnegation, I wouldn't have lived with Marcus again. I would have gone through initiation with the others and then lived elsewhere. But I couldn't see that at the time. All I could see was the need to escape, so I ran like a frightened little boy. Shame fills me at the thought.

"You had to get away from your dad," Tris says simply. There's no pity in her voice, no judgment. It's just a statement of fact, and it sends a surge of hope through my chest.

"Is that why you don't want to be a Dauntless leader?" she asks. "Because if you were, you might have to see him again?"

The question startles me, and again I'm struck by her intelligence. Just how many aptitudes does she have? But I shake that question off to answer hers.

"That, and I've always felt that I don't quite belong among the Dauntless. Not the way they are now, anyway."

She looks surprised, and she blurts out, "But you're…incredible." For a moment, I think she's just trying to be kind, that the Abnegation in her is showing, but then she clears her throat and looks away, embarrassed, and I realize she means it. The thought sends a shoot of pure joy through me.

"I mean, by Dauntless standards," Tris adds hastily. I know she's trying to cover her slip, but I don't call her on it. "Four fears is unheard of. How could you not belong here?"

I lift a shoulder, not sure how to answer at first. "I have a theory," I finally start, "that selflessness and bravery aren't all that different. All your life you've been training to forget yourself, so when you're in danger, it becomes your first instinct. I could belong in Abnegation just as easily." _You could, too_ , I think, but she suddenly looks bitter.

"Yeah, well," she says, "I left Abnegation because I wasn't selfless enough, no matter how hard I tried to be."

I almost laugh. With everything she's helped me with tonight, she thinks she's selfish? My lips curve into a smile, and I say, "That's not entirely true. That girl who let someone throw knives at her to spare a friend, who hit my dad with a belt to protect me – that selfless girl, that's not you?"

She stares at me for a moment, frowning in thought, before she speaks. "You've been paying close attention, haven't you?" _Only all the time…._

"I like to observe people" comes out of my mouth. I'm not entirely sure if I'm joking or evading the issue, it's so obviously untrue. She picks up on my tone.

"Maybe you were cut out for Candor, Four," she says, mirroring my words from in the fear landscape, "because you're a terrible liar." My first impulse is to laugh, but I hear the same tone in her voice that I felt when I said those words to her earlier, and I realize she's figured it out. _She knows how I feel._ It's time to be bold.

I rest my hand on the rock, leaning closer to her. The air charges with electricity, as it always does when I'm near her, and I can smell her incredible scent. She's looking down at my hand, avoiding my eyes, so I look at her lips instead. They're so close, I could lean in just a little more and kiss them. The temptation is almost overwhelming.

"Fine," I tell her. "I watched you because I like you." My voice is steady. I'm done waiting.

Her eyes jump to mine, and I meet them calmly as I continue, "And don't call me 'Four,' okay? It's nice to hear my name again."

She blushes and struggles to respond before stammering, "But you're older than I am… _Tobias_."

A smile comes to my lips, unbidden. That's really what she's going to focus on here? "Yes," I say wryly, "that whopping two-year gap really is _insurmountable_ , isn't it?"

To my surprise, she looks more flustered, upset even. "I'm not trying to be self-deprecating," she protests, "I just don't get it. I'm younger. I'm not pretty. I—" but she stops because I'm laughing. I can't help it. After all my worries and fears and hesitations, she thinks _she's_ not good enough for _me_?

This amazing young woman who brought me back to life and changed _everything_ thinks that I should be with someone _better_? I laugh from deep inside and lean forward those extra few inches, kissing her temple softly.

But she's angry. "Don't pretend," she says, "you know I'm not. I'm not ugly, but I am certainly not pretty."

For a moment, I'm torn between amusement and anger. I know that Abnegation self-doubt all too well. It's the problem with always focusing outside ourselves – we can't see our own worth. I hate that she doesn't know how truly incredible she is. It won't be possible to convince her in one night, but I can start.

"Fine," I say, humoring her. "You're not 'pretty'. _So?_ " I hold her eyes for a moment, challenging her to see herself as she deserves to be seen. Then, I kiss her cheek. I can't resist.

"I _like_ how you look," I emphasize, my voice dropping on the word "like." "You're deadly smart. You're brave." I pause and then add the difficult part in a softer voice. "And even though you found out about Marcus, you aren't giving me that look. Like I'm a kicked puppy or something."

She stares at me blankly, like it never even occurred to her to pity me, and answers, "Well, you're not."

In that moment, I love her even more, and then it's impossible to wait any longer. My hand caresses her face, and my body leans in, and I kiss her on the lips. I probably do everything wrong, but to me it's the most perfect moment in my life. Her scent, her taste, the feel of her lips on mine, her soft skin under my hand, all boil together into a happiness so deep it's almost painful. A smile crosses my face, and I have to pull back enough to let it spread. I don't go far.

Then, my lips are back on hers, the excitement growing. This is finally happening. I've been hoping for so long, and now it's real. My hands need to be on her face again, so I move away enough to give them room, let them pull her back to me so we can kiss more firmly, more deeply.

She runs a hand up my back and my neck, sliding her fingers through my hair and holding me to her as she responds with growing enthusiasm. We stay that way for a long time, and I never want it to end.

A large splash from the river finally catches my attention, and I reluctantly pull away, realizing abruptly just how late it is. We both have training tomorrow. I gaze at her for a moment longer, my fingers brushing her cheek affectionately, and then I take her hand and we rise. "I'll walk you to the dorm," I say softly.

We don't talk on the way there. My mind is too occupied, and I suspect hers is too, but our hands stay linked the whole time. I automatically take the route with the fewest cameras and pull us into the shadows to avoid the others. It's a deep instinct at this point.

When we reach the dorm, we linger outside the door. I caress her face again and bring my lips to hers for a long, slow kiss. When we finally pull apart, I whisper, "Good night, Tris." Her eyes meet mine unhesitatingly, and a smile tugs at her mouth.

"Good night, Tobias," she says, and I know she's enjoying using that name – being the only person to use it. I smile back, and then she walks into the dorm, while I return slowly to my apartment.

It's not until I'm there that I realize we didn't talk about how to act around everyone else tomorrow. Surely, she'll know that we have to stay hidden for now. As smart as she is, she must know that. I hope so, anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a terrible cold and feel miserable, and none of my favorite happy "Divergent" fics have been updated lately, so it was nice to reread this chapter and feel cheery about Tris and Tobias' first kiss. Hopefully, you liked it too. If so, please take a moment to write a review. I'm pretty sure that would help me feel better! :-)


	27. Divergent Chapter 27 - Lauren's Fear Landscape

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow - thank you all so much for the outpouring of support from the last chapter! You really helped me feel better despite being miserably sick. Thank you also to my wonderful beta reader, Rosalie!
> 
> And to the guest who posted under the name Alex, Veronica Roth wrote the "Four" stories that I mentioned in my Author's Note. They're available as e-books and also now in printed form.

  
**"** **Divergent" Chapter 27 - Lauren's Fear Landscape**

My dreams are fantastic that night, among the best of my life. When I wake up, it's difficult to focus on the day ahead. All I want to do is find Tris and steal her away to somewhere private.

I take a much longer shower than normal, letting my mind gradually clear, until the water drilling into my skin finally reminds me how dangerous today is. We can't let _anyone_ suspect that we're together. Peter already tried to kill her for less, and even if that weren't an issue, any rumors would certainly get back to Eric, and that would be it. I can't let that happen.

It's still early, so I take the time to cut my hair, buzzing it short while I continue collecting my thoughts. When I'm done, I realize I've cut it Abnegation short. I didn't mean to do that, since this isn't the best time to remind Eric where I came from, but my old habits still emerge when I don't remember to stop them.

By the time I head to breakfast, my mind is fully around how I need to behave – cold and aloof, as if she's just another initiate. I can only hope that Tris does the same. If she calls me Tobias, or touches me, or even greets me in too friendly a way, we're in trouble.

As I walk into the dining hall, I keep my body language surly and my expression like I woke up in a bad mood. My eyes skim the room just enough to find Zeke, and I head to his table without looking at anyone else. It's better if I don't see Tris; I stare at her too much on a normal day, let alone now.

Zeke takes one look at my expression and pushes a cup of coffee my way. Good, my face is apparently convincing. I take a swig and then grab some toast, eating plain food by instinct. Abnegation is deep inside me.

"Rough night?" Zeke asks, and I grunt a non-committal reply. He chuckles. This has been a hard week for him, but he's slowly returning to his normal self.

"You've got to stop working two jobs," he tells me. "It's affecting your sunny disposition."

A smile twitches at the corner of my mouth, and I say, "Yeah, it's all your brother's fault."

"That's what I've been saying," Zeke exclaims with a grin that's almost as wide as usual, and I try to smile back. But there's still too much strain on both of us. And it's not just because of Al or Peter or even Tris. He's still worried about Uriah – that he'll end up factionless or get a lousy job or maybe worse. I'll probably never find out for certain if Zeke knows about Uriah's Divergence, but I strongly suspect he does. The two are very close, even for brothers.

Not for the first time, I wonder what it would have been like to have a sibling. I wouldn't wish my home life on anyone, but maybe I wouldn't have been so alone, so lonely all the time if there'd been two of us. Or maybe it would have just added complications – someone else to worry about, to try to protect, or to watch turn into my father.

Zeke catches my attention again, pointing at Uriah and launching into a story about dunking muffins into orange juice. My eyes follow his finger automatically, and they catch on Tris for a moment. The sight of her is almost overwhelming, but I push the feelings down and force my expression to be cold and empty. It's not easy.

My gaze passes over Uriah and back to Zeke. In a way, I owe them both a favor. I would have left Dauntless months ago if I hadn't been determined to get my best friend's brother through initiation. If he hadn't happened to be sixteen this year, I wouldn't have been here when Tris arrived, and she'd either be factionless or dead by now – killed after she slipped up and manipulated the simulation. It's a sobering thought.

Lauren rises and starts gathering the initiates together, and I climb to my feet, abandoning the rest of my breakfast. Together, we lead the initiates up to the fear landscape room. It's a very different walk than it was coming down last night, with Tris by my side. I keep my eyes on the path ahead of me, not looking back at the group at all. That might seem a little suspicious, I suppose, but it's the safest course of action under the circumstances. It's too hard to look at Tris casually right now.

When we get to the top, I go into the monitoring room and program the computer for Lauren's landscape while she talks to the initiates. I emerge as she's explaining, "Most of you will have anywhere from ten to fifteen fears in your fear landscapes. That is the average number."

Lynn pipes up, asking, "What's the lowest number someone has gotten?" Sorry, Lynn, I think, but you won't be beating that record. I've seen your simulations.

"In recent years," Lauren answers, "four." I can sense her looking at me, but I stare fixedly at the floor, refusing to acknowledge that that's where my name comes from. It's hardly a secret within Dauntless, but right now it feels like something I shared with Tris, not something for the rest of this group.

"You will not find out your number today," Lauren continues. "The simulation is set to my fear landscape program, so you will experience my fears instead of your own." I think of how easily Tris navigated my landscape last night, and I know she won't have any trouble today. Most of the others shouldn't, either, except maybe Drew. He seems to be afraid of everything these days. That's probably my fault, from what I did to him after he attacked Tris, but I can't say I'm sorry. Some of the initiates will be factionless soon, and he's close to the top of my preferred list. Now, if I could just get Peter out of here too….

Lauren assigns the fears, pointing as she calls them out. I'm not sure who gets which one, since I'm still focusing most of my attention on the floor, but I watch as they each face their assigned fear. It's dull, as always, to watch from the outside. Unless you're hooked up to the computer, you can't see the fears or hear anything except screams that are loud enough to leak through the walls. Still, I watch the initiates through the window, because it's a good distraction, and it gives my eyes a focus.

When it's Tris' turn, she walks boldly into the room, her usual fearless self. I finally have an excuse to look at her, and I watch her intently through the window. It's hard to tell which fear she's facing at first, but when she begins to scream I suddenly realize why. Lauren assigned her the fear of being kidnapped. This is not good.

Tris screams again and again, full-fledged panic seizing her, and my heart hammers with her. This isn't how it's supposed to work. She's supposed to face something she's not afraid of at first, so she can learn how to work the simulation. Instead, she's facing a fear she shares, a fear that's far too real to her.

Her screams become more intense, filled with pain and dread and the certainty of death. _Come on_ , I think, _get a handle on it_. _You're amazing at this. Find your way out of it._ But she can't. It's too much, too soon, and it's overwhelming her.

Unexpectedly, pain fills my mouth, and I realize I've bitten the inside of my cheek until it's bleeding. My entire body is clenched, my hands in tight fists at my sides. Tris is in agony, and I can't stand to watch it. This has to end – now.

"Stop!" I say loudly, sternly. Lauren must have reached the same conclusion, because she stops the simulation as I say the word. The lights come on in the fear landscape room, and Tris stands there, shaking uncontrollably. Her knees buckle, and she drops to the floor, hiding her face in her hands while she tries to regain some sense of normalcy.

I find myself walking toward her, unable not to. My first impulse is to comfort her, but of course I can't do that in front of everyone. In fact, I need to do exactly the opposite. The others will be wondering why I stopped the simulation, and it would be much too easy for them to guess the reason. I hate what I have to do next, even more than I hated having to throw knives at her and having to nick her ear to throw Eric off the scent, but it's as necessary as that was.

Grabbing her arm, I yank her to her feet and shout, "What the hell was that, Stiff?"

She's startled. She tries to catch her breath, hiccupping as she gulps. "I…" she begins. "I didn't—"

"Get yourself together," I snarl. "This is pathetic."

The words bring her back to herself, restoring her fearlessness and ferocity. She pulls away, glaring at me in fury, and then she hits me, hard, on the face. I have no idea how to respond. For a long moment, we stand there, staring at each other, and then she yells, "Shut up!"

She twists her arm out of my grasp and walks out of the room, leaving me standing there in complete confusion.

And judging by the dead silence, I'm not the only one who feels that way. It seems to take ages before anyone moves, but finally, Lauren takes control of the situation.

Turning to the initiates, she says, " _That_ is how you will look when you face your real fears. I didn't mean to do that to any of you today, but sometimes an initiate happens to share an instructor's fear. As you can see from Tris' reaction, it's much, much harder to face your own fears than someone else's."

She looks at me expectantly, waiting for me to add something, and I manage to pull myself together. My face is etched in stone as I look at the initiates and say, "This is a good time to remind you all to think through your fears in advance. It will help if you have a plan before you go in. Even if you end up with an unexpected fear, it will be easier to face it if you've been thinking about how to handle different situations and how to calm yourself down."

Several of the initiates nod, their eyes still wide with shock. But Peter smirks at me and asks, "So, when we face our real fears, if we react badly and, say, punch you, what happens to us?"

I glare at him, fighting the urge to smash him against the wall until he can no longer move. My voice is cold when I sneer, "You're welcome to find out."

For just a second, he holds my gaze, but then he backs down and looks away. I mastered the intimidating stare a long time ago, and I know there's extra venom in my gaze for _him_.

"That goes for all of you," I add, my eyes passing challengingly over the group. They look down, look away, look scared…. Good. Now they'll be convinced that Tris is in serious trouble, and that I don't feel anything positive toward her at all. This is certainly not how I wanted today to go, but at least one part of it worked.

I badly want to leave, though – to go find Tris and make sure she's okay, and to explain why I yelled at her like that. I had assumed she would understand, but obviously she didn't. The realization makes me feel sick. But Lauren continues the training session, and I have no real choice but to stay.

It seems to take forever for the remaining initiates to go through the fear landscape. After the last one finishes, we give some pointers to wrap up the session. I'm not entirely sure what I say, since I'm talking automatically by now. Just as we're ready to leave, Lauren launches into a question and answer period. It's as if she's determined to make the session last as long as possible.

Finally, we're done, and the initiates begin to trickle out. I head for the door immediately, but Lauren catches my arm and says, "Hang on a second, Four."

Yanking my arm away instinctively, I round on her, barely managing not to snap a vicious response. There's too much anxiety buzzing through me right now.

Lauren bites her lip, looking almost as worried as I feel, but she waits until the last initiate leaves before speaking.

"Look, Four," she says, "don't be too hard on Tris. It was my fault for assigning her that fear. I should have thought. I should have realized she'd react badly after the way she was attacked."

For several long seconds, I just stare at Lauren, putting everything together. She's been deliberately keeping me here this whole time to prevent me from storming after Tris. She probably thought she was giving me time to calm down, protecting Tris in the process, but the realization infuriates me. I could have gone after Tris an hour ago – could have already resolved this mess. Instead, I've been stuck here because my fellow instructor is worried that I'll hurt the most important person in my life.

My voice is rough as I say, "It's none of your concern how I punish a transfer." Again, I start to leave, but Lauren blocks my way, her arms crossed and her face set.

"Don't act like Eric," she says coldly. "You're better than that." Part of me admires her persistence, but I don't have time for this.

"Yes, I am," I snap, "but this _really_ isn't your business."

To my surprise, she explodes, shouting, "It most certainly _is_ my business when _I_ assign one of _my_ fears to someone. _I_ screwed up here, not her, so if you want to get mad at anyone, it had better be _me_ , Four!" Her face is filled with rage, and I actually back away a step, startled.

"You don't have enough fears to realize how hard they can be," she adds more quietly.

For the second time today, I have no idea how to respond. I stand there, shaking my head, trying to figure out what to do.

I have to get out of here, and Lauren's "help" is definitely not helping. But she thinks it is, and as frustrating as all of this is, I should appreciate it when someone else wants to help Tris. So, I force myself to breathe and to calm down.

"You're right," I finally say, keeping my voice level and deliberately softening my expression. "We should both have been paying more attention. This was our fault more than hers. And I certainly shouldn't have grabbed her when her adrenaline was that high." Softening my expression a little more, I add, "Don't worry, I'll just talk to her, okay?"

Lauren looks at me closely for another moment, trying to decide if she trusts my answer. Finally, she nods stiffly. And at long last, I leave the room.

As I walk down the stairs, a line from the Dauntless manifesto crosses my mind: "We believe in ordinary acts of bravery, in the courage that drives one person to stand up for another." The timing is terrible, but I have to admit it's nice to see there's still some of that left in Dauntless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Those of you who already read this chapter in Part 2 may have noticed that I merged part of the next chapter in with this one when I revised it. The next chapter was just way too long, and this one was fairly short, so it made sense to do that. The rest of the scene is still in the next chapter and will be posted here soon.
> 
> Anyway, please let me know what you thought of this chapter. Your reviews have been truly wonderful over the last few days, and I appreciate them very, very much!


	28. Divergent Chapter 28 - Tris Visits Caleb

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who reviewed the last chapter and who sent me "get well" wishes! My cold apparently turned into a sinus infection, but I'm on medication now, so hopefully I'll be better soon.

**"** **Divergent" Chapter 28 - Tris Visits Caleb**

I spend the next few hours searching the compound for Tris, but she seems to have vanished completely. Christina and Will are looking too, so I follow them from a distance for a while, thinking that perhaps she'll talk to them even if she's avoiding me. But they don't have any more luck than I do. When lunch starts, I make my way to the dining hall and wait there through the entire meal time, but she never shows up. This is definitely not good.

Eventually, I wander up to the roof, figuring that even if she isn't there, I can use the height to look for her outside. It's the first time I've voluntarily looked over the edge of the building, and my heart hammers fiercely as I view the drop. It was much easier in my fear landscape, when Tris was holding my hand, but I force myself to look thoroughly from all sides of the roof anyway.

She's nowhere in sight. _Come on, Tris, where did you go?_

My last resort is the control room. I try to avoid it when Jeff is on duty, since I don't know him well and don't want to explain myself to him. But I'm worried now, and I'm out of other choices, so I take the stairs back down from the roof and cross to the elevators.

Jeff glances up when I enter the room, and I give him a tight smile. He's not a bad guy overall, as far as I can tell, but I don't want to risk letting him know who I'm looking for or why. So, I decide to see what he knows first.

"Anything unusual going on?" I ask, keeping my voice casual. It's a fifty/fifty shot whether he's noticed the situation.

He frowns a little and answers, "Not that I've seen. Why? Is there something I should know about?"

I hesitate, looking away. If he learns about this later, I don't want him to think I was hiding anything, but I also don't want to call his attention to this if he otherwise wouldn't notice it. I shift my weight, kicking a little with the other foot, and shrug.

"Not really," I say. "We had a minor incident with one of the initiates, and Lauren needs to follow up with her, but we're not sure where she went." Maybe if I put the focus on Lauren, Jeff won't be suspicious of me.

"I thought it would be fastest to check up here," I add.

Jeff shrugs, not really interested in the initiates. "Go ahead and look," he says, standing up from the computer and stretching. "I could use a break anyway." He grabs his empty coffee cup and heads out of the room. Good, that'll give me at least five minutes.

I search quickly, starting with the camera that caught Tris crossing the Pire. She doesn't know to avoid the surveillance equipment, so she's easy to follow. That's a problem long-term, but for now it works. I follow her until she leaves the building, the last image showing her heading in the direction of the train tracks. A sudden fear flits through me. She didn't leave the compound, did she?

I fast-forward through the footage from all the outside cameras, hoping to see her come back in at some point, but she doesn't reappear. A weight sinks into my stomach. _She left._ She'll be in serious trouble if Eric finds out. It's about the only rule Dauntless enforces on free time – initiates aren't allowed to leave the compound – and she broke it. And it's my fault.

My mind races through options as I return the computer to its regular monitoring mode, making sure Jeff can't see what footage I evaluated. He returns as I'm finishing, and I give him a tight smile, saying, "Got it. I'll let Lauren know. Thanks for the loan."

"No problem," he says, and then adds, "You're on duty tonight, right?" I nod, only half listening as he continues, "Don't be late – I need to leave on time."

"Understood," I say over my shoulder, my feet already out the door.

My only chance is to be by the tracks as each train comes in. If Tris left on the train, she'll probably return on it, and if I can get to her before anyone else does, maybe I can make it look like she was with me the whole time. That will generate its own set of suspicions, but it's far better than having people know she left by herself.

Fortunately, I know the train schedule well. I just wish I knew where she went, or when she's likely to return, or where she'll get off. There are too many variables for me to cover them all, but I have to try. What choice do I have?

I end up playing the odds. If she gets off at a distant stop and walks in, she's less likely to be noticed, so that's the least important option to cover. If she rides the train all the way to Dauntless, she's most likely to get off on the roof. After all, she likes heights. So, I decide to check every train that arrives there and catch the others as best I can.

She's not on either of the next two trains. I make sure to return to the building between them, to make it less obvious that I'm waiting. There's no way to avoid the outside cameras, but I duck my head a little to hide my face. It's feeble, but better than nothing.

As I'm heading out to meet the third train, I hear footsteps scrambling toward me and a shout of "Four!" I spin, hoping for a wild moment that it's Tris, but it's Lauren. She looks upset.

"We have a problem," she says in a rush, her voice quiet but intense as she glances around, trying not to be overheard. "Tris left the compound. We drove her out of here." _How does she know that?_

"What do you mean?" I ask carefully, keeping my voice and expression neutral.

"Eric was talking to the Dauntless-borns," she continues, agitation showing in every part of her. "And then Maria came to get him for an emergency. I heard what they were talking about. Tris went to Erudite to see her brother, and they found her, and they're driving her back here. Eric is _furious_."

Oh, god. It's the worst possible scenario. Everything inside me sinks. We had one perfect moment, and now I've managed to screw everything up horribly. And Tris will pay the price, maybe permanently. I can't let that happen. Somehow, I have to find a way to salvage this.

"It's our fault," Lauren says adamantly, reading my mind. "We have to do something."

"Yes, we do," I agree, but my mind is no longer on the conversation. Instead, it's racing again, trying to think of some solution, some way to get Tris out of this. "But we have to be careful," I find myself adding, "because Eric hates me, and he'll do whatever he thinks will bother me most." I didn't mean to say that aloud, but Lauren just nods, and I realize it's probably common knowledge.

"I'll go," she says. "I'll tell Eric what happened and let him get mad at me." Her voice is scared, but firm. For the first time, it occurs to me how intimidating Eric must be to other people. I've always thought of him as my own personal demon, but he's probably even more frightening to those who have never seen his weaknesses.

"No," I say automatically, "that won't work." I don't have a plan yet, but I know the answer isn't for Lauren to say that Tris ran away out of fear. That will only egg Eric on more, and he already wants to punish her for being first when he thinks someone like Peter should be, and for being from Abnegation – for being too much like me.

"I have to do it," I state firmly. "I know how he thinks." Besides, I can't trust Tris' safety to anyone else, especially not when I caused this.

"Do you know when they'll get here?" I ask, not quite able to hide the desperation in my voice.

Lauren glances at her watch and replies, "They've probably arrived by now." I swear silently.

"Don't say anything to anyone," I tell her fiercely. "I'll figure something out, and I'll let you know what happens." Then, I move away quickly, not waiting for a response. Whatever I'm going to do, I have to do it _now_.

I walk fast, trying to strategize on the way. The most important thing is for Tris to come out of this safely. She can recover from anything else, even if she never forgives me. Besides, she's ranked first, so she can lose a lot of position and still make it through initiation. Even if she doesn't, being factionless isn't like people think. I've seen the way they live, and in some ways I prefer it to Dauntless, or even Abnegation. And we could still be together out there, if she wants.

The biggest threat is if Eric believes she's Divergent. I'm sure he already suspects, so I have to find a way to shift his focus elsewhere. That means I have to distract him from her ranking, or explain how she was able to escape from every simulation so much faster than everyone else. There's also the issue of the simulation I had to delete after she manipulated it. I couldn't erase the fact that the simulation occurred, just the actual recording, so there's a suspicious trail there. But Eric might not know that, and he's not going to be looking right now. If I can distract him enough, maybe he won't think to check later.

Even if I manage that, though, there are other signs of Divergence I need to worry about. I know I suspected Tris was Divergent long before her first simulation. For a moment I think through why that was, and I realize the main reason is that she's so deadly smart. Someone who grew up in Abnegation and chose Dauntless shouldn't be that smart.

Has Eric seen that part of her? At first, I assume he must have, because it's so obvious to me, but maybe not…. She's always been wary around him, and that probably caused her to hide her abilities. Everyone else saw her brilliance during Capture the Flag, but she was on my team, so Eric didn't observe that. And he was such a sore loser the next day, I doubt anyone told him what she did. It's possible he doesn't know.

It suddenly sinks in that her brother chose Erudite, and siblings often have the same aptitudes. That will definitely arouse Eric's suspicions, so that's what I need to counter the most. Somehow, I have to make Eric think that Tris is foolish – a silly teenage girl. One who managed to end up first….

Okay, silly but fearless, someone who's good at the simulations due to sheer guts. And she left the compound for those reasons – because she was brave enough not to worry about being punished and foolish enough to take the chance. It's hard to imagine selling Tris that way, when half of it is so blatantly untrue, but I have to do it. And I have to get Tris to play along. That part might actually be harder.

It's not an easy plan, or even a particularly good one, but I feel a bit better having _something_ in mind. I decide on it just in time, because as I approach the front of the building, I see Eric and Tris in the entrance area, in the room between the two sets of doors. Eric is blocking Tris' way, keeping her from entering the building, and his entire body radiates menace. My muscles tense at the sight, and I want to step between them the way I stepped in front of my father in the fear landscape. _Stay away from her._

I take a calming breath and fix my face into an unconcerned expression. I can't let Eric see that I care. Another breath, and there's no trace of emotion left on my face as I push the doors open and walk through.

"What are you doing?" I ask Eric, deliberately putting him on the defensive – and drawing his attention to me. My eyes stay on him, not flicking to Tris at all.

"Leave the room," Eric snarls.

"No," I answer calmly, still watching him. "She's just a foolish girl. There's no need to drag her here and interrogate her."

"Just a foolish girl?" Eric says with a snort. "If she were just a foolish girl, she wouldn't be ranked first, now would she?" I knew that would be the crux of his argument, but I was hoping it wouldn't come up quite so soon.

I pinch the bridge of my nose like I'm tired or annoyed. It effectively hides my eyes from Eric, and I look intensely at Tris during that moment, willing her to understand. She needs to play along for this to work.

Eric is still looking at me, so he doesn't see how quickly she gets it, doesn't even realize there was something to get.

"I…" she begins. "I was just embarrassed and didn't know what to do." She sniffs, tears in her eyes, looking very convincing as his gaze moves to her. "I tried to…and…." She shakes her head as if she can't bear to finish.

"You tried to what?" Eric asks, his attention fully on her. A sliver of hope goes through me. He's buying it. I don't know where Tris is going with this, if anywhere, but an idea leaps to mind, and I act on it.

"Kiss me," I finish for her. My voice is firm, bored, like an instructor annoyed by a little girl's crush. "And I rejected her, and she went running off like a five-year-old. There's really nothing to blame her for but stupidity." I say the last part derisively, like the thought of kissing her disgusts me, like the thought of her in general disgusts me. Everything in me shouts in protest, but I squash it down, using the energy it gives me to make my act better. The more I seem to dislike her, the more Eric will be on her side.

I wait for the words to sink in. Tris stays quiet, looking at the floor like a sad, rejected little girl. She's surprisingly good at this.

Finally, Eric begins to laugh. His eyes flit back and forth between us as his laughter grows. It's an awful sound, and he keeps it going far too long. I can't tell if this just appeals to his sick sense of humor that much or if he suspects it's all a lie.

"Isn't he a little too old for you, Tris?" he asks with a nasty grin. A moment of triumph passes through me. He's thinking of her as young, as foolish. It's working.

Tris wipes away a tear, still looking down, and manages a decent blush. If I hadn't been watching her expressions so closely for so long, I'd buy it too.

"Can I go now?" she asks quietly, with a bit of a whimper.

Eric pauses only briefly before saying, "Fine, but you are not allowed to leave the compound without supervision again, you hear me?" He says it pedantically, like he's speaking to a young child, and my heart soars. I squash it immediately, because he's turning back to me now.

"And _you_ …" he says in that vicious, taunting voice I know so well, "had better make sure none of the transfers leave this compound again. And that none of the others try to kiss you."

I roll my eyes dismissively, as if I think none of the others are stupid enough to try what Tris did, and answer, "Fine."

To my enormous relief, Tris walks out of the room safely, leaving the building again. I don't watch where she goes. Instead, I keep my eyes on Eric, giving Tris time to get well away, and making sure that Eric's focus is on me, not her. When it's just the two of us, his expression hardens.

"You know," he sneers, "I can see why she thought you were interested. You do look at her a lot."

A jump of adrenaline goes through me, but I ignore it, refusing to allow it to alter my expression. "No more than you do," I say, struck by a sudden inspiration. I can see him start a little at the accusation, immediately on the defensive.

"I don't waste my time looking at Stiffs," he responds angrily, but I laugh.

"Of course you do." My voice is bold and amused. "Everyone looks at her. We all do it for the same reason, and it's certainly not because she has a pretty face."

"What do you mean?" Eric asks suspiciously, and I can tell he's thoroughly engrossed in what I'm saying.

"We're all trying to figure out how a scrawny, foolish little girl from Abnegation managed to end up first," I comment like it's so obvious I can't believe I need to say it.

His expression is eager now, but I don't add anything else. Instead, I wait, making him ask for it, knowing that will make him more curious and more focused on my answer.

Finally, he can't take it any longer, and he prompts me, "Well? What have you figured out?"

I roll my eyes again, like he's the stupid one now. His teeth grind impatiently, angrily, but he waits for my answer. I say it lazily. "She has no fears."

"What do you mean? Of course she has fears. I've watched her simulations." An edge of nervousness creeps through me. He _has_ watched them. I knew he was paying too much attention to her. But I also know that everyone considers me to be an expert on fearlessness, so he'll be inclined to believe what I say next.

"Not real ones." My voice is dismissive. "Not deep ones. Compared with everyone else, she has shallow little fears that she can overcome in seconds. It's no wonder her simulation times are so good. For her, it's like being in someone else's fear landscape. It's all incredibly easy."

Eric is staring at me intently, his expression unusually thoughtful. Finally, he nods like it all makes sense now, and I can tell exactly what he's thinking. She isn't Divergent. She isn't clever. She isn't even particularly brave. She's just lucky to have no real fears, just like I was lucky to only have four fears. That's why I beat Eric, and that's why she's beating Peter. It's not because we're better in any way. _It's sheer dumb luck._ The argument feeds perfectly into his way of thinking, and he swallows it whole.

He laughs, and I know he's not thinking about Tris at all anymore. He's thinking that I finally admitted he should have been first in our class. He's feeling like he won. He gives me a triumphant look and then says, "Well, I don't have all day to waste on you. I have real work to do." And with that, he throws the doors open and walks back into the building.

A surge of relief goes through me, leaving me too weak to move for a moment. Somehow, Tris and I pulled off the impossible. She got away with no punishment, and Eric is less suspicious of her now than he was, less suspicious of both of us. He's still dangerous, particularly if he figures out that she's a lot smarter than we just portrayed her as, but overall, this went _far_ better than I could have hoped.

I want to follow Tris, but I don't dare do that yet. I need to make sure Eric stays out of sight. It also occurs to me that I'd better make sure Lauren doesn't contradict anything we just said. So I head back into the building to find her.

It isn't hard. As soon as I walk into the main part of the Pire, she comes up to me, her expression still anxious. "Well?" she asks. "What happened?"

I walk with her to a quieter spot, one that I know isn't monitored.

"Nothing too bad," I say softly, making sure we're not overheard. "Eric yelled at her a lot, but nothing worse."

Lauren looks doubtful and comments, "That's not like Eric."

I shrug and add, "We had to change the story some. It's not worth going into, but um, don't say anything to Eric about today. It's better if he thinks that Tris doesn't have any real fears."

Lauren looks at me for a long moment and then nods. "Okay."

"Oh, and…." I hesitate, not wanting to trust Lauren like this but not daring to leave her as a wild card either. "If it comes up at all, tell him that you think I've always disliked Tris."

She nods again, looking at me oddly, and her mouth crooks into a small smile. "Sure thing, Four," she says.

As I turn to leave, she adds, "And don't worry, I know that you wouldn't rank anyone differently based on whether or not you like them."

I freeze. _She knows._ I face her again, my expression neutral. "You're right," I say firmly. "I wouldn't, if it ever came up." She doesn't look like she's buying it, but I hold her gaze challengingly, and eventually she looks away.

"Where is Tris, anyway?" she asks. "I want to apologize to her, but she hasn't come back in."

"She's outside. I haven't talked to her yet. It didn't seem like a good idea with Eric still nearby."

"He just went upstairs," she tells me, "right before you came in." A thought seems to occur to her, and she says, "Tell you what. You go talk to Tris, for both of us, okay? If Eric comes back down, I'll talk to him about something to do with the Dauntless-borns. Keep him busy."

She nods as she says it, like it's something she really wants to do, and I realize this day has been hard on her too. She feels guilty, and she hasn't been able to do anything to resolve it. I hate relying on others, but I really do want to talk to Tris, and I absolutely don't want Eric to see us, so I nod too.

"Fair enough," I answer, and I walk away without looking back.

* * *

Tris is still outside, sitting on the edge of the sidewalk in a relatively hidden area. As I approach, she stands and looks at me, crossing her arms over her chest.

"What?" she asks challengingly. She's still angry, or maybe she thinks I'm mad at her – probably both, come to think of it.

"Are you all right?" I ask, trying to defuse the tension, and also because I genuinely want to know. It's been a nightmarish day. My hand touches her cheek softly, but she bats it away, not ready to forgive me.

" _Well_ ," she says furiously, "first I got reamed out in front of everyone, and then I had to chat with the woman who's trying to destroy my old faction, and then Eric almost tossed my friends out of Dauntless, so yeah, it's shaping up to be a pretty great day, _Four_."

 _Jeanine_ interviewed her? That's not good. It was hard enough to make Eric think she's nothing but a foolish girl without Jeanine telling him she isn't. And on top of that, Eric threatened her friends. He knows she still has too much Abnegation in her. This day just keeps getting worse – too many signs of Divergence, too many things going wrong. I thought we had gotten past the worst part, but now I don't know.

"Why do you care anyway?" Tris demands, and the words sting. "You can be either cruel instructor or concerned boyfriend. You can't play both parts at the same time." As always, the word "cruel" twists inside me. I hate being called that. It makes me feel like my father.

"I am not cruel," I respond automatically, scowling, and finally I begin the explanation I wanted to give hours ago.

"I was protecting you this morning. How do you think Peter and his idiot friends would have reacted if they discovered that you and I were…." I sigh in aggravation. "You would never win. They would always call your ranking a result of my favoritism rather than your skill." I don't add how much danger she'd be in from Eric. He's already scared her enough today.

She opens her mouth to respond but then closes it again, apparently thinking better of her answer. She rubs her cheeks with her hands, thinking hard for a few seconds, and then says bitterly, "You didn't have to insult me to prove something to them."

"And you didn't have to run off to your brother just because I hurt you," I counter. It would have been much easier if she'd just talked to me, just trusted me. I rub the back of my neck, not quite daring to meet her eyes as I add, "Besides – it worked, didn't it?"

"At my expense." She's still angry, or maybe hurt would be a better description. My insides twist a little at the thought.

"I didn't think it would affect you this way," I say quietly. My eyes drop to the ground, and I shrug helplessly. "Sometimes I forget that I can hurt you. That you are capable of being hurt." She always seems so strong...

She puts her hands into her pockets and rocks back and forth on her heels, thinking. Then, to my surprise, she stands on tiptoes and kisses me gently on the lips.

"You're brilliant, you know that?" she asks, and my heart pounds hard in my chest. She forgives me. We can get past this.

She adds, "You always know exactly what to do."

But I don't deserve that compliment, certainly not after today. The only reason I half-manage is because I spend so much time thinking about her.

"Only because I've been thinking about this for a long time," I explain, kissing her lightly. "How I would handle it, if you and I…." Suddenly, my mind registers something she said earlier, and I pull back, grinning.

"Did I hear you call me your boyfriend, Tris?"

She looks away nervously, shrugging. "Not exactly," she says evasively, and my smile widens.

"Why?" she asks challengingly. "Do you want me to?"

 _Of course._ But unexpectedly I'm nervous too, and no answer comes. My hands caress the back of her neck, and my thumbs lift her chin so I can lean forward and rest my forehead on hers. I close my eyes and breathe her air, sharing her space and trying to figure out what is making me so nervous – what is keeping my voice from working.

 _I don't know how to be anyone's boyfriend._ Today certainly proved that. And Tris deserves better. The Abnegation in me says I should let her go, let her apply that word to someone more deserving. But I want this so much. For a change, the Dauntless in me wins, and I breathe, "Yes."

But of course she can't use that word yet, at least not publicly, not when it might get back to Eric. And then I'm worrying again, concerned that I wasn't convincing enough, that Jeanine will make him take another look, and he'll realize how brilliant Tris is.

"You think we convinced him you're just a silly girl?" I ask doubtfully.

"I hope so," she says with more confidence than I feel. "Sometimes it helps to be small. I'm not sure I convinced the Erudite, though."

My alarm grows stronger, flaring along my nerves. Jeanine is watching Dauntless so closely right now, as they prepare for war. I still don't know exactly when or how they're going to attack Abnegation, but suddenly I realize that I can't keep this to myself any longer. Tris needs to know about the threat to her and her family.

I give her a serious look and say, "There's something I need to tell you."

"What is it?" she asks.

"Not now," I answer immediately, looking around to make sure no one can possibly hear us. We're in a fairly secluded area, and none of the important offices overlook this spot, but I don't want to take any chances. Besides, this is something I should show her in person.

"Meet me back here at eleven-thirty. Don't tell anyone where you're going."

She nods, and I leave her there, returning to the building, my head full of worry again. This day feels like it's lasted forever, and I still have a shift in the control room ahead of me, and then I need to tell Tris that war is coming.

* * *

As I walk through the Pit, I catch Lauren's eyes and know she's still keeping a look-out for Eric. I should go talk to her, but I'm suddenly too exhausted to face another conversation. So, I just nod and give her a tight smile. Her whole body relaxes with relief, and she returns the nod, grinning.

I start toward my apartment but then think better of it. What I really need is to work out some aggression, so I head to the training room. For a long moment, I stand with my hands on the punching bag, just letting my limbs tremble, releasing some of the stress. Then, I go through a full workout, punching, kicking, striking with my elbows and open hands. The movement helps, and by the time I leave, I feel calm and focused again.

It's dinner time, but I shower quickly first, washing off the sweat from the workout, and change my clothes. Dinner is rushed as a result, since I need to get to the control room. I don't have time to talk to anyone, which is perhaps just as well. I doubt I'm much of a conversationalist right now.

Jeff is ready to leave when I get there. I'm pushing on late, and he's annoyed, barely greeting me before heading out the door. That works too, and I spend the next four hours in blissful boredom. Absolutely nothing of interest happens on the monitors, so I don't even have to erase any footage or report any problems.

When I leave, I race to the train tracks, knowing I barely have time to get there. Tris is waiting where we talked earlier, and I grab her hand, pulling her with me to the tracks and then onto the passing train. My fingers hold her elbows gently to help her balance against the bumpy motion. The trains run faster at night.

"What is it you need to tell me?" she shouts over the rattle of the train and the raging wind, but I shake my head.

"Not yet." I don't want to start this conversation any sooner than I have to.

I sink to the floor of the train, leaning against the wall, feeling again the full exhaustion of this day. My hands are still on Tris, so she drops with me and sits facing me, her legs to the side as she leans on one hand. She's very close to me.

My hands caress her cheeks for a moment, and then my fingers wrap around her ears and pull her face gently to mine. We kiss, a long, sweet kiss.

The train slows, screeching loudly, and I know we're approaching the middle of the city. We still have time, so I kiss her again, on the lips, on her neck, savoring her taste. I feel a sigh of pleasure pass through her.

A sudden lurch knocks her off balance, and her hand lands on my hip. My breath catches, and I wait for her to pull away, but instead she goes the opposite direction. Swinging a leg over me, she sits on my lap and kisses me more boldly. Everything inside me awakens, and I sit up straighter, an overwhelming mix of pleasure, excitement, and longing flowing through me. It feels indescribably good.

My hands are pressing behind her shoulders, then sliding down her spine to the small of her back, as we kiss more and more deeply. My breathing is fast and hard, and I finally have to stop kissing her to get more air into me. My eyes lock on her, and my hands lift of their own accord to begin unzipping her jacket.

The sight of her tattoos finally distracts me, and I pull away a little, forcing my breathing to slow. I focus on the tattoos, really looking at them for the first time. I begin to feel in control again as I brush my fingertips over the ink and smile.

"Birds," I say, remembering her first simulation. "Are they crows? I keep forgetting to ask."

"Ravens," she answers. "One for each member of my family. You like them?" I do, but the answer reminds me why we're here, and I don't know what to say. So, I don't answer aloud. Instead, I pull her closer and kiss each bird in turn, slowly, deeply. Her body relaxes into the sensation, and for a long moment I forget everything else – and almost miss the sight we're here to see.

I touch her cheek, murmuring, "I hate to say this, but we have to get up now." She nods, unwilling to open her eyes, but finally she stands, pulling me to my feet, and I lead her to the open train door. It's past midnight now, so the street lights are off, and most of the city is dark. I point to the only exceptions, a cluster of lights marking Erudite headquarters.

"Apparently the city ordinances don't mean anything to them," I say, "because their lights will be on all night."

She frowns and responds, "No one else has noticed?"

"I'm sure they have, but they haven't done anything to stop it. It may be because they don't want to cause a problem over something so small, but it made me wonder what the Erudite are doing that requires night light."

I lean against the wall and face Tris. "Two things you should know about me. The first is that I am deeply suspicious of people in general. It is in my nature to expect the worst of them. And the second is that I am unexpectedly good with computers." She nods, and I continue.

"A few weeks ago, before training started, I was at work and I found a way into the Dauntless secure files. Apparently we are not as skilled as the Erudite are at security, and what I discovered was what looked like war plans. Thinly veiled commands, supply lists, maps. Things like that. And those files were sent by Erudite."

"War?" Tris asks, her voice serious but not shocked. "War on Abnegation?" It certainly didn't take her long to figure that out.

I link my hands with hers, trying to provide some comfort as I say, "The faction that controls the government. Yes."

"All those reports are supposed to stir up dissension against Abnegation," I continue, letting my eyes move over the city. "Evidently the Erudite now want to speed up the process. I have no idea what to do about it…or what could even be done." No matter how much time I spend thinking about it, I can't seem to come up with a way to make a faction of selfless people defend themselves.

Tris looks confused and says, "But why would Erudite team up with Dauntless?" I don't even have time to start an answer before her eyes widen, and I can tell she's figured it out. "They're going to use us," she says.

I nod slowly, saying, "I wonder how they plan to get us to fight."

For a moment, I almost expect an answer, having seen Tris' brilliance in action so many times, but she just murmurs, "I don't know," and I realize suddenly how tired she is. This has been a long, terrible day, and we're both too exhausted to think.

I pull her back to a sitting position, letting her rest her head in the crook of my shoulder, my arm around her, holding her close. We almost fall asleep and miss our stop, but somehow we make it off the train and safely inside. I walk her to the dormitory in silence, as I did last night, but with a very different mood surrounding us this time.

As we stand outside the door, we hold each other's eyes for a long moment. Finally, I shake my head a bit and say, "Don't worry. We'll figure something out." She just nods, almost asleep on her feet, and I give her a gentle kiss. "Good night," I say, and then I lean close, my lips moving on her ear as I whisper, "girlfriend."

A shiver passes through her, and I can tell she feels the same electricity I do.

"You know," she murmurs, "I could get really used to hearing that." A light laugh goes through me as I move my lips down from her ear and along her jaw.

"But not yet," she adds, her tone becoming mischievous. "I know you'll have a hard time believing this, what with your trusting nature and all, but it would be dangerous to go saying that in front of people right now."

My laugh deepens as I pull back and meet her eyes. "I never would have guessed," I comment, and then I kiss her again, a last sweet kiss for the night.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew! I think that's the longest chapter in the book. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed it. Please take a moment to write a review and let me know what you thought.


	29. Divergent Chapters 29 & 30 – Final Exams

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who reviewed the last chapter! Thank you also to my wonderful beta reader, Rosalie, and to BK2U, who has kindly agreed to help with the review process too, since my schedule can be more than a little difficult to accommodate. I really appreciate the help from both of you!

**"** **Divergent" Chapters 29 & 30 – Final Exams**

It's a mystery to me how the population of Dauntless can possibly expand so much on initiation day. People fill the Pit and the pathways surrounding it, flooding through the dining hall and the Pire in such numbers that it's virtually impossible to move without being tripped or rammed into or knocked off a narrow path.

I have to assume my most intimidating instructor presence and bark, "Out of the way!" periodically simply to get lunch and then navigate to the Fear Landscape room afterwards. Almost everyone I pass is drunk.

My official role today is minimal, since the leaders will be the ones who observe the landscapes, but I still arrive early and set everything up. They'll consider it to be beneath them to do that, and by doing it myself, I can make sure it's done right. And that Eric doesn't somehow mess with the system.

Lauren arrives next, looking almost nervous. I wonder if she has any particular initiates she's worried about, but it's too loud for discussion, so we just exchange nods and wait.

The leaders begin trickling in ten minutes later. Not surprisingly, Eric is the first of them. He gives me a malicious smile before making a show of taking his seat in one of the observation chairs and beginning to hook himself up to the computers. It's his way of proclaiming that he's more important than I am.

The crowd quiets a little when Max arrives, toting a box in his hand. "Four, Lauren," he says loudly enough to be heard over the remaining noise, "I have something for you."

As we look at him curiously, he opens the box to reveal a set of syringes that are filled with an orange-brown fluid. It's not the right color for the landscapes.

"We've had a problem with members going missing," he states, "so we're injecting everyone with a tracking device."

Something freezes inside me, and I can't help but think this must be related to the upcoming war. Do they know that I discovered their plans, or that I warned Tris? Are they trying to track my whereabouts to see if I go to Abnegation?

"I'm not worried about getting lost," I tell him coldly.

He gives an irritated grunt. "It's standard procedure. We're injecting everyone, thanks to your initiate – you know, the one who wandered off to Erudite. We can't lose anyone else like that."

"That seems like an absurd overreaction," I state flatly, but I can feel the tension increasing even more inside me at the mention of Tris.

"Oh, come now, Four," a voice murmurs smoothly beside me, and suddenly Maria's hand is on my arm. With all the noise, I didn't even hear her approach.

She gives me the false smile she always does, and I can feel my stomach turning. "How are we supposed to get our newest members to comply if their trainers don't?" she asks, as if it's the most reasonable question in the world.

"That's _your_ problem," I snap. It's a bad idea to speak that disrespectfully to a senior leader, but I can't help it. There are few people I distrust more than Maria, and her presence makes me even more desperate to find a way out of this.

For the first time since I've met her, Maria's face loses its seductive mask, and I see anger flash behind her eyes. "It's a direct order," she hisses. And I know I have to either obey or risk being kicked out of Dauntless.

For several long seconds, I debate taking that chance anyway, but then a movement draws my attention from across the room, and I find myself looking at Eric. He's watching me with a smirk on his face – one that reminds me of our last conversation…and of how much danger he still poses to Tris.

If I get myself in trouble with the leaders, I'll only be increasing that danger.

"Fine," I snarl, turning back to Max. I don't want to look at Maria any longer. "But for the record, this is stupid."

The needle pinches sharply as it goes into the side of my neck, but that isn't what bothers me. Instead, it's the way Max meets Maria's gaze in the moment before he injects me, and the sour expression on his face as he does it. I'm not sure if he's irritated with her or me, but there's something about this that he doesn't like.

Whatever it is passes quickly, and Max injects Lauren without further comment. Then, he and Maria take their seats by Eric, and we resume waiting. I try not to think about what just happened – and how much harder it will be to warn the Abnegation now that the leaders can track my every movement. Maybe I can find a way to disable its functionality….

The Dauntless-born initiates begin filtering into the room, and I try to focus on them. We're almost ready to begin.

Uriah gives me a smile as he comes in, and I nod in return, watching as he takes one of the last few seats. When Marlene joins him, I realize they're all here now. Lauren obviously realizes it too, since she's already moving toward them.

The crowd quiets further as she speaks, explaining how the test works and the order in which each person will be called. And then the first initiate enters the landscape room, and I turn my attention to the screens.

It's slow watching them complete their landscapes. Very little is visible from the outside, so all I can really do is track each initiate's number of fears and total time. And there aren't many surprises with those, since they tend to follow the ranking order. Still, it's better to watch that than to think about the war, so I do.

It also helps to see that members in the Pire are receiving the same type of injection that Max gave me. Apparently, I wasn't being singled out after all.

Eventually, the transfers start to arrive, and I watch them take their seats. They make a variety of nervous movements as they alternate between staring at the screens and trying to ignore them.

The last one in the door is Tris, and my heart jumps when I see her. But I keep my expression neutral, and she in turn does a good job of ignoring me. There are no empty seats at this point, so she takes up a standing position near the wall.

"Hey, Tris!" Uriah calls loudly, catching my attention as well as hers. When I turn to him, I see he's patting his leg. "You can sit on my lap, if you want."

A surge of jealousy flares through me, startling me with its intensity, and I have a hard time not letting any reaction show.

"Tempting," Tris calls back with a grin, but it's obvious she's joking, and I relax a little. "It's fine. I like to stand."

At that moment, Marlene finishes her test, and the leaders rise to congratulate her. The transfers won't start yet – not until the remaining Dauntless-born are done – but I take this opportunity to speak to them anyway.

"Transfers," I call loudly, "the order in which you go through the final test was taken from your rankings as they now stand. So Drew will go first, and Tris will go last."

I meet her eyes briefly as I say her name. She looks calm and collected, at least compared to the others, and I have no doubt she will do well. Still, I wish I could talk to her – or better yet, hold her hand – while she waits. But instead I continue to stand by myself, watching the screens.

Uriah and Lynn finish their tests, both with very good times, and I feel my muscles unclench a bit with the reassurance that my friends' siblings have both made it into Dauntless. It's Drew's turn next, and he looks downright petrified as he stumbles forward. I'm not sure if that should bother me or not, but my eyes turn automatically to Tris with the thought. I meet her gaze for only a second before watching my last-place initiate struggle through his landscape. I swear it takes him hours.

The others aren't that much better, going one by one through their worst fears. As with the Dauntless-born initiates, I can recognize some of the obstacles from the simulations, but not all of them.

Nervous energy starts running through me when Peter enters the landscape, since I know that Tris is next. But Peter takes considerably longer than I expected. His per-obstacle time is good, but he faces a full twenty fears one after another. I recognize some of them from his simulations – being attacked by cigarettes and then by a factionless man with a knife – but others are new. Not that I really care.

When he's finally done, Eric steps forward with the last syringe.

"Tris," he calls in his cold voice, and I watch as she crosses the room and lets him inject the serum into her neck. I try not to shudder at the sight of him touching her.

"Ready?" he asks, and then she's heading into the room.

Her first fear is easy to recognize: the crows. Judging by her movements, she finds a gun in the simulation and shoots them down one after another until the landscape moves on. It doesn't take long.

The next obstacle sends a spike of cold terror through my stomach, because it's the one I had to delete during stage two. The one that showed her Divergence. I can see her pressing her hands against walls that are invisible to me, and then kicking them. It takes a few tries before the tank must burst open, as it did the last time. But it's okay that she did it here – she's allowed to manipulate the landscape, unlike the regular simulations.

I can't tell what the next obstacle is, so I assume it must be new. She drops and flails and drags herself across the floor before finally regaining her feet and running. But even though it's a fear she's never faced before, her time in beating it is still excellent.

Next comes Peter burning her on a pole high above the ground. That simulation was particularly difficult to watch during stage two, but this time it's clear that Tris has already come up with a strategy to beat it, because she finishes quickly, ending it with a wide smile.

Another new obstacle follows that, and this time, Tris struggles. I can't tell what's happening, but she screams at one point, and the tension that runs through me in response is somewhat unnerving. It reminds me too much of how I felt by the chasm.

Her time on this fear is the longest so far, though still well within the "good" range. I breathe a sigh of relief when she escapes, only to watch as she enters another unknown obstacle. This one seems different, though – she looks more confused than scared.

It's difficult to interpret her movements, but another flare of jealousy goes through me when she moves her lips as if she's kissing someone. What the hell? Maybe I'm interpreting it wrong, but given the way she smiles next, and the way the leaders suddenly start laughing, I don't think I am. Before I can decide or can figure out just what's happening, she's moved on to the next obstacle, and I force myself to continue, too. This isn't the time to dwell on who she might have been kissing, if that's even what really happened.

The next one is easy to recognize, since I've seen it twice. She's being forced to shoot her family. It's her worst fear, and I watch tensely, waiting for her to face it enough to pull the trigger. But she apparently finds another solution, because she never fires. I wonder what she did instead.

The wonder doesn't last long, because when that obstacle ends, the test does as well. I can't help the smile that curves my mouth. Tris only has seven fears, and her total time was amazing – easily the lowest of the initiates, and possibly a new record. There's no doubt she just made it into Dauntless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There aren't many chapters left within "Divergent." As a reminder, I'm going to continue filling in the blanks until I reach the chapters that are currently in Part 2 of this story (which is only posted on the fanfiction net site). Then, I'll revise those and move them to here (and will delete Part 2 once it's empty). After that, I'll probably add the first ten chapters of "Insurgent" here, though I don't plan to go beyond that, since I feel like Wee Kraken's "Killing Four" story works well for the rest of "Insurgent." If you haven't read that story yet, please check it out; it's well worth the time.
> 
> Anyway, please take a moment to review this chapter. Reviews motivate me to find the time to write, despite a crazy schedule, and they always make my day! :-)


	30. Divergent Chapter 31 – Tobias' Room

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who reviewed the last chapter! Thank you also to Rosalie and BarbaraK2U, who both proof-read this chapter at different points in its lifecycle. This was a difficult chapter for me, for whatever reasons. It took me a while to get inside Tobias' head and understand why he said some of what he did. Hopefully, my final take on it works.

**"** **Divergent" Chapter 31 – Tobias' Room**

I follow behind the leaders as they enter the landscape room. Tris was the last initiate to be tested, so it won't look strange if I come in with them.

She stands, facing us as we form a line to congratulate her on finishing the exam. Her eyes flit briefly to me, and I give her a reassuring smile.

"Congratulations, Tris," Eric says. "You have successfully completed your final evaluation."

"Thanks," she responds, her voice only a bit shaky. Most people are a mess at this point, but it doesn't surprise me that she's so calm.

"There is one more thing before you can go and get ready for the welcoming banquet," Eric continues, and I can't help glancing at him. There isn't usually anything else now. But he gestures to Sierra, who steps forward and hands him the case Max had earlier, and I understand. They're injecting their new members as they've been doing with the rest of us all day.

"At least you aren't afraid of needles," Eric comments as he pulls a syringe out of the box and holds it up. "This will inject you with a tracking device that will be activated only if you are reported missing. Just a precaution."

It's obvious from Tris' expression that she's as suspicious as I was. Am, really _._ "How often do people go missing?" she asks with a frown.

"Not often," Eric replies with his trademark smirk, and I know he's itching to say that this is all because she ran off the other day. But instead he shrugs a little. "This is a new development, courtesy of the Erudite. We have been injecting every Dauntless throughout the day, and I assume all other factions will comply as soon as possible."

His explanation is different than Max's. That might or might not mean anything, but it bothers me. Still, it's not like there's any real choice – either Tris goes along with him, or she won't be joining this faction.

She clearly comes to that same conclusion, because she reluctantly says, "All right."

I don't watch as Eric injects her. It's too likely that I would show an inappropriate reaction. So, instead I look away, pretending to be bored with this part of the proceedings.

"The banquet is in two hours," Eric states after a moment. "Your ranking among the other initiates, Dauntless-born included, will be announced then. Good luck."

The leaders begin filing out, and I wait, acting as if I'm deferring to them by letting them go first when I really want to be the last one with Tris. When it's just the two of us left, I gesture to her to follow me and head into the corner of the observation room. It's not completely private, but it's the best spot we'll find for now.

"I heard a rumor that you only had seven obstacles to face," I tell her with a smile. "Practically unheard of."

She looks uncomfortable. That's hardly surprising given she just finished her fear landscape. "You…you weren't watching the simulation?" she asks a bit nervously.

"Only on the screens. The Dauntless leaders are the only ones who see the whole thing." She still looks upset, so I add, "They seemed impressed."

"Well, seven fears isn't as impressive as four," she comments, seeming a bit steadier now, "but it will suffice."

It's more than good, and I want her to know that. "I would be surprised if you weren't ranked first," I say firmly. She nods a little, and I lead her into the glass room. She walks beside me – not close enough to raise questions but near enough for us to continue talking. It helps that the crowd has thinned somewhat at this point, now that the landscapes are all done.

The remaining people notice her, though, and they react as the Dauntless do – with cheers, claps on the shoulder, and congratulations. Tris smiles at them. I think it's starting to sink in that she's about to become a full member of this faction.

We're partway down the stairs to the Pit when Tris speaks again. "I have a question." She bites her lip. "How much did they tell you about my fear landscape?"

"Nothing, really," I say, wondering if her nervousness has anything to do with _that_ fear. The one where she seemed to be kissing someone. "Why?"

"No reason," she mutters quickly, kicking at something, but it's obvious that she feels unsettled. It bothers me.

"Do you have to go back to the dormitory?" I ask. "Because if you want peace and quiet, you can stay with me until the banquet." It would give us a chance to talk about whatever happened in that fear, and right now that seems like a priority.

Her expression makes me even more certain of that, as something like panic flashes across her face.

"What is it?" I ask, feeling my own worry increase as images of her kissing Uriah seep into my brain unbidden.

She shakes her head a little. "Let's go," she responds.

* * *

 

I slip my shoes off automatically when I enter my apartment. It's an old Abnegation habit I've never lost.

"Want some water?" I ask, in another habit from my former faction.

"No thanks," she responds just as politely, holding her hands in front of her. A smile quirks the corner of my mouth as I realize that this scene could easily be taking place somewhere gray instead of black. The thought makes me feel a little better – a reminder of how much we have in common.

"You okay?" I ask, touching her cheek. She still looks a bit off, but that could easily be from facing her landscape for the first time. That's always a difficult experience.

Cradling the side of her head reassuringly, I let my fingers slide through her soft hair while I search her expression. She seems more like herself now, and I can't quite resist extending the touch. Smiling, I step closer and kiss her. It's a slow, gentle kiss that spreads warmth through me and eases the knot of worry in my stomach.

It also fills me with the same energy and desire I felt on the train. Without thinking, I push the jacket off her shoulders, letting it fall to the floor as I kiss her more deeply.

She jerks back abruptly, shoving me away from her, hard, and my anxiety comes crashing back. It gets even worse when she covers her eyes with her hands as if she can't stand to look at me. _She must like someone else._ That must have been who she was kissing in that fear. The thought hurts more than I ever thought something could.

"What?" I ask, trying to control my voice. "What's wrong?" I don't want to hear her answer, but at the same time I need to know.

But she just shakes her head, refusing to talk to me.

"Don't tell me it's nothing," I snap, too hurt and angry to be calm. She doesn't look up, and I grab her arm. "Hey. _Look_ at me."

She does, dropping her hands and raising her eyes to mine. They're filled with conflicting emotions.

"Sometimes I wonder," she says in a slightly shaky voice, "what's in it for you. This…whatever it is."

The words chill through me, and all I can do is repeat, "What's in it for me?" That isn't what I expected her to say, and while it's better than hearing her confess that she likes Uriah, it's more than a little insulting to have her refer to our relationship as _whatever it is_. And to know that she distrusts me like that.

I step away from her, shaking my head. "You're an idiot, Tris."

"I am _not_ an idiot," she answers fiercely. "Which is why I know that it's a little weird that, of all the girls you could have chosen, you chose me. So if you're just looking for…um, you know… _that_ …."

Her voice falters off, and it takes me a second to realize what she means. "What?" I demand. "Sex?" A scowl forms on my face. Does she really think that little of me?

"You know," I growl, "if that was all I wanted, you probably wouldn't be the first person I would go to." My mind fills with images of all the women Zeke tried to set me up with, and the ones I saw in the bars on so many nights – flashing more skin than clothing and clearly looking for a one-night stand. Sex is readily available in Dauntless, but I never wanted it like that.

Tris presses her hands to her stomach, refusing again to look at me and seeming even more upset.

"I'm going to leave now," she says quietly, her voice filled with pain. It digs through my own hurt enough to reach me, and suddenly I realize what my last statement sounded like. _She thinks I don't find her attractive._

"No, Tris," I say desperately, grabbing her wrist to hold her back. I can't let her leave like this, not without correcting that mistake.

She pushes me away again, even harder than before, but I grab her other wrist. Our arms are now crossed between us, but at least she's facing me.

"I'm sorry I said that," I tell her firmly. "What I _meant_ was that you aren't like that. Which I knew when I met you."

Her expression is still filled with distrust. "You were an obstacle in my fear landscape," she says, her voice trembling and her lower lip wobbling. Everything inside me freezes. "Did you know that?"

"What?" stumbles out of my mouth as I drop her arms and step back, horrified. "You're _afraid_ of me?"

Panic surges through me. This is far worse than I thought, even worse than her liking Uriah. I've tried so hard to not be like my father, and I thought I was succeeding, but somehow I've scared her. I don't even know how.

"Not you," she says, biting her lip and trying to steady her voice. It's almost impossible to focus my racing mind, but I try. I have to know what I did wrong.

"Being with you…" she continues. "With anyone. I've never been involved with someone before, and…you're older, and I don't know what your expectations are, and…."

And suddenly I understand. Relief crashes through me as I realize what _that_ fear was. She wasn't kissing someone else, and she didn't imagine me hurting her. She was kissing _me_ – because she's afraid of intimacy. I'm certainly not happy about it, or about how this whole conversation has gone, but this is something I can handle. In fact, if I'm honest, I have plenty of that same anxiety myself.

It occurs to me that she should know that.

"Tris," I tell her sternly, "I don't know what delusion you're operating under, but this is all new to me, too."

"Delusion?" She looks confused. "You mean you haven't…." She raises her eyebrows disbelievingly. "Oh. _Oh._ I just assumed…um, you know."

I do know. She assumed that I'm like virtually every other eighteen-year-old male in this faction. That I've slept with a dozen others.

"Well, you assumed wrong," I tell her flatly. But I can't help the flush that rises on my cheeks. Zeke has teased me too many times about still being a virgin for me not to feel a little embarrassed.

But Zeke isn't here right now. Tris is, and she needs to know that we're alike in this way, as in so many others. That she can tell me about her fears and hesitations, and that I won't turn her away for them.

"You can tell me anything, you know," I reassure her, taking her face in my hands, suddenly desperate to touch her again, and to feel like maybe we're okay. "I am kinder than I seemed in training. I promise."

Her expression is still nervous, but she looks like she believes me. It's a start.

Very gently, I kiss her between her eyebrows, and then on the tip of her nose. She doesn't back away, so I let my lips find hers, though carefully this time. I want her to understand that we'll move at a pace she's comfortable with. That I will _never_ push her to do something she doesn't want.

Slowly, the kiss deepens, and I shift my hands to her shoulders the way I did before. Her jacket is already off, and I'm certainly not going to remove her shirt, but I like the feel of her back under my hands.

I stop when my fingers brush over a bandage. Backing away enough to see, I ask, "Are you hurt?" If anyone harmed her, they'll have to deal with _me_ now.

"No," she says immediately. "It's another tattoo. It's healed. I just…wanted to keep it covered up."

The words relax me, though they also make me curious. What tattoo did she get that she feels the need to hide?

"Can I see?" I can't help asking.

She hesitates only briefly before nodding and pulling her sleeve down enough to expose her shoulder. It's the most I've seen of her skin, and for a moment I'm mesmerized by the smooth look of it. I run my fingers gently over the curve of her neck and shoulder before I remember what I'm supposed to be doing and move on to the bandage, peeling it up just enough to see the ink below it.

It only takes a second to recognize the tattoo – the symbol of Abnegation. I smile. "I have the same one, on my back."

"Really?" She seems surprised, despite the fact she knows we're both from the same faction. "Can I see it?"

It takes a little while to process that request. My girlfriend, who is apparently afraid of intimacy, is asking to see my bare back. My back that is covered with faction symbols in a manner that practically shouts, "Divergent!" The back that my father whipped so often that the only way I could move past the memory was to cover it with ink. I don't know if this is a good idea….

I carefully smooth her bandage back in place and lift her shirt over her shoulder again while trying to figure out a response. Finally, I say, "Are you asking me to undress, Tris?"

She gives a nervous laugh. "Only…partially."

It's not an easy request, but I nod anyway. She already knows about Marcus, and she's Divergent too, so there's really nothing to hide. And I do trust her – more than I've ever trusted anyone.

I keep my eyes fixed on hers as I unzip my sweatshirt and pull it off, tossing it onto my desk chair. She stares at me, her expression serious. Summoning all my courage, I grab the hem of my T-shirt and pull it off in a single, smooth motion. I've only ever done this in front of my father before, each time I prepared for a beating. There were obviously different emotions involved then, but the reminder is enough to make me look away.

"What is it?" Tris asks, obviously picking up on my discomfort.

I don't want to bring up my father right now, so I answer more vaguely. "I don't invite many people to look at me. Any people, actually."

Her expression is hard to read. "I can't imagine why," she says softly. "I mean, look at you."

A smile curves my mouth at that statement, and suddenly I remember what she said earlier, about all the girls I could have chosen. _She actually thinks I'm handsome._ A warmth spreads through me, and I'm glad at that moment that she's moved around me to my back and can't see the flush rising on my face.

She's silent for a long time, staring at my back, and gradually the warmth gives way to uncertainty. I don't know what is going through her head, but I should probably explain that tattoo….

"I think we've made a mistake," I tell her softly. "We've all started to put down the virtues of the other factions in the process of bolstering our own. I don't want to do that. I want to be brave, and selfless, _and_ smart, _and_ kind, _and_ honest." I clear my throat. "I continually struggle with kindness."

"No one's perfect," she whispers. "It doesn't work that way. One bad thing goes away, and another bad thing replaces it."

The words are disheartening, and I wonder what makes her think that. But before I can ask, she brushes her fingers gently over part of the tattoo, and I lose the thought.

"We have to warn them, you know," she says. "Soon." It's easy to tell what she means. She's tracing the Abnegation symbol.

"I know," I respond without hesitation. "We will." I still don't know how, particularly with trackers in us now, but we absolutely _will_ find a way.

With that thought, I turn to face her again. But she doesn't meet my gaze. Instead, she stares at my bare chest, her eyes wide and conflicted.

"Is this scaring you, Tris?" I ask, one hand automatically starting toward my discarded shirt. I don't want to make her uncomfortable.

"No," she answers, her voice croaking. She clears her throat. "Not really. I'm only…afraid of what I want."

I'm not sure what to make of that response. "What do you want?" I ask, before suddenly understanding. " _Me?_ "

She nods, slowly, and I do, too, as her meaning sinks in. I can feel my heart hammering at the thought of her hands on my skin, and mine on hers, and everywhere that could lead. It petrifies the Abnegation in me, but other parts of me react very differently.

My inner Dauntless decides to be bold. Taking her hands gently in mine, I guide them to me, pressing her palms against my stomach. They feel insanely good, making my pulse skyrocket instantly, and I have to look down because it's too much to meet her eyes right now.

A little at a time, I push her hands up, over my abdomen and chest until they reach my neck. I hold them there as I finally meet her gaze.

"Someday," I tell her, "if you still want me, we can…." But I can't finish the sentence. The reality of our closeness is too much, and I'm caught between how much I want her and how difficult it is to imagine actually getting there with our Abnegation backgrounds. I clear my throat and try again. "We can…."

Tris smiles, wrapping her arms around my bare waist before I can finish my sentence. She presses the side of her face against my chest, listening to my racing heart.

"Are you afraid of me, too, Tobias?" she asks.

A smile forms on my face. "Terrified," I answer. And in a way, it's true. It scares me to be this close to someone – to even want this closeness in the first place. But at the same time, there's something deeply healing about it.

She turns her head and kisses the base of my throat. "Maybe you won't be in my fear landscape anymore," she murmurs.

That thought is certainly reassuring, and I lean down to kiss her. It's a slow, deep, loving kiss.

"Then everyone can call you Six," I whisper.

"Four and Six," she answers, and I smile before kissing her again. It's impossible to know just what the future holds right now, with war approaching and Eric threatening my every move, but in this moment, I don't care about any of that. This, here…this is _right_. And I let myself enjoy it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know what you thought of this chapter! I really, really love reviews...


	31. Divergent Chapter 32 – Final Rankings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who reviewed the last chapter! A lot of you took the time to respond, and I really appreciate that. Thank you also to my fantastic beta reader, Rosalie, who turned this chapter and the next three around incredibly quickly. I'll be posting the other three in the near future, which will complete the rest of "Divergent" from Tobias' POV. Then, I'll move on to the first part of "Insurgent" (as previously mentioned, I'm only writing the first ten chapters of that book, up to the point where Wee Kraken's "Killing Four" story starts).

**"** **Divergent" Chapter 32 – Final Rankings**

I have rarely felt this happy. Zeke would call it unfounded, I suppose, since all Tris and I did over the last couple of hours was sit on my bed, talking and kissing and relaxing. But I loved every minute of it.

It's impossible not to smile as we walk to the dining hall for the initiation banquet. I don't hold Tris' hand – not in public, not yet. But it adds to my good mood to know that I'll be able to do that soon. We're almost done hiding.

When we reach the dining hall, I let her go in first so she can join her friends before I enter and join mine. Zeke grins at me as I sit next to him.

"Man, Uriah kicked butt," he exclaims, clearly thrilled by how the fear landscapes went. "I bet he's in the top five."

I barely have time to nod in agreement before he thrusts a bottle of beer at me, but I wave it away good-naturedly. I'm still wary of drinking, after the whole incident with Tris last time. Besides, I want to have my full senses about me as I watch her place first, so I can enjoy every second of it.

"Yeah, Uriah did well," I tell him. Looking at Shauna, I add, "Lynn did, too. I'm certain they both made it in."

Shauna beams. "That's my sister!" she declares proudly. In that moment, I can tell just how much they were both stressing over their siblings' chances before today.

Turning to Zeke, Shauna abruptly adds, "I bet she beats Uriah." I chuckle. It's amazing how quickly worry turns to overconfidence in this faction.

"I'll take that bet," Zeke responds eagerly, holding his hand out to shake.

"Loser buys drinks?" Shauna confirms, before shaking his hand to seal the agreement. I can't help grinning as I watch them. Everything feels light now, compared with just a day ago. After all the stress of initiation, I'm about to watch my three favorites rank high.

"How'd the others do?" Zeke asks, turning toward me enough to hide the suggestive waggling of his eyebrows. He's obviously referring to Tris.

"Tris had the shortest time," I answer plainly, not bothering to hide behind the term "Stiff" or talk about anyone else first. "And Drew had the longest. The others are somewhere in between." I shrug to indicate that no one I care about is going to become factionless.

"What about Peter?" Shauna asks, her expression suddenly sour. I can feel the frown that forms on my own face in response.

"He'll probably make it in," I admit with a sigh. "Though he might or might not be in the top five. He had twenty fears."

Shauna actually laughs at that. "Pathetic," she says, shaking her head. I don't bother commenting that there's much less of a difference between her fifteen fears and Peter's twenty than there is between her number and mine.

But Zeke looks more serious. "If we'd gone after him," he says regretfully, "maybe we could have given him a few more fears, and he'd be out now."

"No," Shauna answers firmly, gripping his arm reassuringly. "You can't think like that. There's no way of knowing how he would have reacted." Her mouth turns down at the corners. "Besides, if he tries anything else, we'll get him then."

Zeke thinks about that for a second before nodding, his expression determined. I know they're right, but despite that, the words leave a sour taste behind. I still hate the thought of letting Peter get away with what he did to Tris.

But before we can discuss it any further, the microphone squeals, and I know the ceremony is starting.

Eric climbs onto one of the tables, microphone in hand, tapping it with a finger to quiet the crowd. It doesn't take as long as usual – everyone is anxious to see the rankings, so they settle down quickly.

"We aren't big on speeches here," Eric begins. "Eloquence is for Erudite."

The crowd laughs, but I can't help the prickling at the back of my neck. That's a rich statement coming from _him_. Not only is he an Erudite at heart, but he's undoubtedly a large part of how the leaders will be getting this faction to side with them in the upcoming war. Still, I listen as he continues.

"So I'm going to keep this short. It's a new year, and we have a new pack of initiates. And a slightly smaller pack of new members. We offer them our congratulations."

The entire room erupts with the pounding of fists on tabletops. It's difficult to hear Eric as he adds, "We believe in bravery. We believe in taking action. We believe in freedom from fear and in acquiring the skills to force the bad out of our world so that the good can prosper and thrive. If you also believe in those things, we welcome you."

I glance at Tris and see that she's grinning widely. An answering smile forms on my own face.

"Tomorrow," Eric announces, "in their first act as members, our top ten initiates will choose their professions, in the order of how they are ranked." For the first time, it occurs to me to wonder what job Tris will take. Perhaps there's a way for her to warn Abnegation through whatever position it is….

"The rankings," Eric finally says, "I know, are what everyone is really waiting for. They are determined by a combination of three scores – the first, from the combat stage of training; the second, from the simulation stage; and the third, from the final examination, the fear landscape. The rankings will appear on the screen behind me."

With that, the names appear, taking up almost the entire wall. I'm not the least bit surprised to see Tris' name and photo in first place, but the sight makes me grin anyway. _She made it._ After all my worry and after everything Eric did to screw up the training, she made it in _first place_. She did as well as I did.

It's the whoop from Zeke that finally gets me to look at the rest of the list.

1\. Tris

2\. Uriah

3\. Lynn

4\. Marlene

5\. Peter

6\. Will

7\. Christina

8\. Jeremy

9\. Amy

10\. James

11\. Molly

12\. Drew

Zeke won the bet, but judging by the way he and Shauna are kissing, it doesn't matter. They're both clearly thrilled that their siblings are not only members but will be able to pick virtually any job they want.

A hand slaps my back, and I turn to see Uriah grinning wildly. "Thanks for everything, Four!" he shouts, making himself heard above the noise, and I know he's giving me credit for getting him through stage two. I smile in acknowledgement.

"Congratulations," I say firmly. "You earned it."

Zeke obviously agrees, because he turns around and catches his younger brother in a bear hug. I watch them for a moment before turning to Shauna and Lynn, who are embracing just as enthusiastically. And again, I smile. This outcome makes the last few weeks worthwhile.

My eyes turn to Tris' seat, but it's impossible to see her through the crowd. So, instead I watch as Uriah frees himself from his brother's grasp and heads back to the other initiates, undoubtedly wanting to exchange congratulations with them. As he disappears in Tris' direction, I decide to take a chance and follow him. Surely, I'm allowed to congratulate my successful initiates, aren't I?

It's difficult to make my way there. People are swarming in every direction, shouting enthusiastically and high-fiving each other and laughing with pure joy. I have to stop multiple times to allow inebriated celebrants to roll across the floor in front of me, wrestling in Dauntless mania.

When I finally reach the table, Will and Christina are kissing while Tris sits with her back to me, staring at the names on the board. I tap her on the shoulder.

She clambers to her feet quickly, beaming, and I can't resist saying, "You think giving you a hug would give away too much?"

"You know," she tells me, still smiling widely, "I really don't care." And with that, she stands on tip-toe and kisses me right on the mouth. Part of me knows it isn't a good idea to do this in public yet, but the room is so crowded and chaotic that we're relatively hidden. And a very large part of me simply can't resist this moment with my girlfriend.

So, I pull her to me, returning the kiss with all the enthusiasm that's filling me. It's a long, wonderful kiss, and I make no attempt to stop it. Tris, on the other hand, breaks away abruptly, staring at me wide-eyed. I don't know why.

"Tris?" I ask, but she just shakes her head quickly.

"Not now." She glances around, and I realize there's something she wants to say where we won't be overheard. "Later, okay?"

I nod. Judging by her expression, she just figured something out – probably about the upcoming war. And that hope adds to the joy of this moment, making it one of the best times of my life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please take a moment to let me know what you thought of this chapter. Reviews always make my day!


	32. Divergent Chapter 33 – War Begins

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who reviewed the last chapter, and to my wonderful beta reader, Rosalie! This is the last chapter before the ones that are currently in Part 2 (which is only on the fanfiction net site). I'll be removing those from Part 2 soon and will post the revised versions here. Then, I'll take a short break before working on the "Insurgent" chapters. (I'm drafting an intense part of my "Prior Rings" story right now, so I need the break to focus on that.) Anyway, this isn't really an "enjoyable" chapter, but I hope you like it.

**"** **Divergent" Chapter 33 – War Begins**

By the time I'm able to get away from Zeke's celebration and flop onto my bed, it's late, and I immediately fall into a sound sleep. Not surprisingly, I dream about Tris.

She's walking through Abnegation in black clothes as everyone congratulates her, with their polite smiles and mild words. Eventually, they start following her, marching in time in a way I've never observed in any faction. Their footsteps get louder and louder, all drumming to the same rhythm, until the sound abruptly awakens me.

I lie there for a moment, listening to the unmistakable noise of real people marching down the corridor outside my room. The numbers are clearly large, but there's no conversation of any kind – simply the sound of many feet hitting the floor in unison.

Adrenaline surges through me as I understand. _The war has begun._

Leaping out of bed, I yank my clothes on and grab the gun that I keep in my nightstand. I've already failed to warn them, but I won't let Abnegation go down without a fight.

Opening the door just a crack, I peer out to see what I'm facing before I actually leave my room. Dauntless soldiers march past me in a long line, but they don't look at all the way they normally would. Instead, their faces are slack and expressionless, and their eyes are fixed straight ahead – and completely blank. It's a look that's strikingly familiar, after running so many simulations and after just watching the fear landscapes.

The realization jolts through me as a surge of pure panic. _That's what the injections were._ They weren't tracking devices at all; they were a way of forcing the entire faction to be part of a mass simulation – one that will cause them to attack Abnegation without even knowing it.

And I'm not affected…. Almost before I can wonder why, the answer slams through me. _I'm Divergent._ And that means that Tris and Uriah must be in the same position I am – and in even more danger. I at least might be able to hide in my room, but they're still in the dorms. I have to find them.

Stuffing my gun into my waistband, I pull a jacket on to cover it. Then, I set my expression to match everyone else's and step into the corridor with no sign of hesitation. The rest of the line makes room for me, and I immediately match my pace to theirs, marching with them as if I'm as dead to the world as they are. It's the most frightening experience of my life.

We continue in the same rhythm toward the Pit. I feel another surge of panic as we pass the final hallway that branches off to the side, and I see Max watching us from it. He's clearly awake, overseeing the army he helped create, and the sight makes me want to wrap my hands around his throat and stop all of this _now_.

But I know it wouldn't really have that effect. So, instead I follow the others, keeping my face as slack as theirs and pretending I don't see the way Max's eyes hang on me for a long moment. There's something of sadness in his expression.

The line moves to the left, and I follow them without pause. It's obvious where we're going, anyway – to the trains. But I'm certainly not surprised when we stop to pick up weapons. I strap a belt and holster on the same way everyone else does and fill it with a gun and spare ammunition. It's difficult to work around the gun that I already have in my waistband, but I don't dare remove it. That could easily attract attention.

It's not safe to look around, but as I turn away from the weapons tables, I take a quick glance, trying desperately to spot Tris and Uriah. Not surprisingly, I don't see either of them in the crush of people, but by a stroke of luck, I do spot Will. If Tris is playing along with this the same way I am, she'll be near him – and I simply can't see her because she's shorter than the people around her.

It's my best chance at finding her, so when I step away from the table, I join the line they seem to be in instead of the one I followed here. It's a risk, but with so many people moving up to and away from the weapons tables, perhaps I won't be noticed. It seems to work, since no one says anything or comes after me.

I say a silent prayer that I picked the right line. It wasn't entirely clear which one Will was in, and I certainly can't look back now to check.

The line marches on, continuing to the train tracks as I expected. A fresh flare of anger goes through me when I see the train waiting, with all its doors open. Trains don't normally stop here, so this indicates yet another level of cooperation in the war. Either the Erudite are operating this train directly, or they have allies among the factionless. It's a disgusting thought.

The line I'm in begins filing into a train car, and I follow, still hoping beyond hope that Tris is close behind me and will end up in the same car. But when the car fills up, and the line shifts to the next one, I catch a glimpse of movement to my left – below the height of everyone around me. And I _know_ that it's her. She's trying to get into the line I'm in. She must be seeking me out the same way I'm looking for her.

The soldier in front of me climbs into the car and turns to help someone else enter. I follow suit, but just a little slower, trying to time it right. Between my efforts and Tris', it works, and when I reach my hand down, she grasps it. It takes a tremendous amount of effort to keep my face blank as I pull her into the car, particularly when her eyes flick up to mine.

I step back with her, joining the throng of people who are standing shoulder-to-shoulder in four rows, filling the train car. It's strange, but even with all these others nearby, and the sense of crowding that should be triggering my claustrophobia, all I can feel is her presence next to me. My hand reaches out on its own, finding hers and lacing our fingers together. No one will see that here, not when we're surrounded by forms all looking straight ahead.

She squeezes my hand, and I return the pressure, making sure she knows that I'm as awake as she is. Right now, that connection is the only comfort either of us has.

The train begins to move forward, turning my adrenaline into a deep, mind-numbing fear. We're on our way to my former faction, to kill the leaders and who knows how many others. I won't shed tears over my father, but Tris certainly will if her parents are caught in this attack. And the odds are high that they will be, since Andrew is one of the city's leaders.

Unbidden, I think of Tris' worst fear – of being forced to shoot her family – and I know how terrified she must be now. _God, why didn't I find a way to warn the Abnegation?_ There must have been some opportunity I missed, some way I could have prevented this from happening. Instead, I did nothing but _think_ about it, like some little kid wishing pointlessly that things would fix themselves.

Every death that occurs today will be my fault.

Tris squeezes my hand again, and I begin tracing slow circles on the back of her hand with my thumb. It's all I can do to help her stay calm right now, so I at least do that. Maybe, somehow, it will keep her focused enough to think, and she'll come up with a way out of this. She's a lot smarter than I am, so I can only hope that she'll succeed where I've failed.

But the longer the train ride lasts, the more I start to realize there's nothing we can do to stop this. It's simply too late. Innocent Abnegation will die today, no matter what we do. All I can try to do at this point is keep Tris from being among them. I'll be damned if I let her die without a fight.

The squealing of the brakes is the worst sound in the world, because it means we've arrived. The train screeches to a halt, and the soldiers in front of us begin jumping out. This is my last chance to try to keep Tris from seeing any of this – and to save her from the battle and all the dangers that go with it.

I look straight at her, despite the risk, and she turns to meet my gaze. My voice is urgent when I say, "Run!"

But all she does is answer, "My family." It's not like I expected another reaction.

Moving in front of her, I jump out first so she'll at least be shielded behind me. And then we're in a line again, this time walking along streets that I haven't seen in two years. The buildings are all dark and empty, and it gives me a brief sense of hope that perhaps the people are hidden away safely. But I know it really means that they're still at home, where they will be attacked indiscriminately.

Every few hundred yards, we pass by a Dauntless leader or officer of some sort – people who have been kept out of the simulation. Hatred burns through me as I see each one. The mindless soldiers marching beside me have no idea what they're doing, but _those_ people chose to do this. If I thought it would do any good, I'd take them out right now.

We've walked a half-mile before I begin hearing gunfire in the distance. Nausea churns through me at the sound, knowing that each shot probably means someone's death.

As we get closer, sights begin to join the torture of the sounds. Far ahead of us, I see Tori pushing a council member to his knees before taking out her gun and firing through the back of his head. I've often wondered if Tori was Divergent, but judging by her blank face and the easy way she follows the unseen orders, she isn't. I don't know if that will be any comfort to her when she awakens later and learns what she just did.

Our line continues to march, walking over the dead body as if there's nothing there. As if a human being isn't lying there with his blood spilling onto the road at our feet. But I force myself to stare straight ahead, saying a silent apology to the man I failed to save, and to my friend who killed him because I did nothing to prevent it.

We're not far past the body when the entire line comes abruptly to a halt. Behind me, I can hear Tris struggling to control her breathing, and it adds to the pounding inside my own chest. This is beyond any level of horror I could have anticipated – standing here helplessly as people are murdered around us.

As if to emphasize the point, another gunshot sounds to our left, and another form drops to the pavement. I feel the need to shout in fury, to attack the people doing this, but instead I stand silent. It seems to kill something deep inside me.

At the front of our line, I see people beginning to step away while the others remain still, and I know that whoever is controlling the simulation is issuing individual orders at this point. Perhaps no one else hears those orders, and when it's time for me and Tris to go, we can branch out on our own without being noticed. I have to hope so, since the alternative is for us to die when we don't hear the commands we're supposed to.

I watch from the corner of my eyes as some of the soldiers drive a group of terrified Abnegation into a building. To my relief, there are a large number of children among them. Perhaps they, at least, are being spared.

Other soldiers move to guard the doors, and the line ahead of me shortens even more. It's getting close to our turn.

"This is insane," a voice behind me and to the right coos, and I have to fight myself not to go rigid in response. I'd recognize _Eric's_ voice anywhere.

"They really can't see us? Or hear us?" This time, it's Maria, and the anger pulsing through me intensifies even more. I should shoot them both right now for their role all of this. And perhaps I would, if it wouldn't immediately lead to Tris' death.

"Oh, they can see and hear," Eric says. "They just aren't processing what they see and hear the same way. They receive commands from our computers in the transmitters we injected them with, and carry them out seamlessly."

Judging by how near his voice sounds, he's standing right by Tris, and the urge to kill him gets even stronger at the thought. But then I can sense him shifting his position closer to me.

"Now, this is a happy sight," he drawls. "The legendary _Four_. No one's going to remember that I came in second now, are they? No one's going to ask me, 'What was it like to train with the guy who only has _four fears_?'"

I hear a brushing sound, and then I feel the unmistakable cold of a gun being pressed to my right temple. It's difficult to stay still with this much adrenaline racing through me.

"Think anyone would notice if he accidentally got shot?" Eric asks almost pleadingly.

To my horror, Maria responds coldly, "Go ahead. He's nothing now."

I know Eric has always hated me, but enough to murder me in cold blood when he thinks I'm helpless? When he already has everything he wants, and he thinks he's reduced me to nothing? It's beyond the lowest level I've seen humanity sink to, and I find my fingers inching toward my own gun, determined to at least take him out with me.

Eric is leaning close to my face now, enjoying his moment of triumph. "Too bad you didn't just take Max up on his offer, Four. Well, too bad for _you_ , anyway." A bullet clicks into the chamber, and I know I'm about to die. My fingers scramble desperately for my gun, trying to be faster than Eric.

But Tris is faster than either of us. I'm just turning toward them when she presses the barrel of her own gun to Eric's skull.

"Get your gun away from his head," she snarls. She stands there, impossibly brave, and I don't think I've ever been prouder of her – or more frightened for her.

"You won't shoot me," Eric says, looking overconfident. In that moment, I truly hope it's the last thing he ever gets to say.

But I can tell that Tris is hesitant to fire point-blank like this. And honestly, I can't blame her. There's a reason that I've had to shoot someone in every fear landscape I've ever faced. It's not an easy thing to do.

"Interesting theory," she responds, trying to sound more certain than I know she feels. But then she lowers her gun. For one terrifying second, I think she's going to surrender, but instead she shoots Eric in the foot.

He drops his gun, screaming in pain as he grabs his foot with both hands. I have my own gun out of the holster and aimed at Maria before she can move. But like Tris, I can't quite make myself kill her, no matter how much she deserves it. Instead, I fire at her leg.

Tris grabs my arm, and then we're both racing for the closest alley. Unfortunately, it's much farther away than I'd like. Footsteps sound behind us, and I yank Tris forward, running as fast as I possibly can and pulling her with me. _We have to escape._

A gunshot rings out behind us, and Tris falls, smashing into the pavement hard. _She's been shot._

My heart hammers faster than it ever has as I slide to a halt and turn back to join her. Blood is spreading from her shoulder, but she's clearly alive, and despite everything that's happening, I feel relief at the sight of her movements.

She looks up at me and yells, "Run!" as I did on the train earlier. But there's no way I'm going to abandon her.

"No," I tell her simply, choosing instead to stand by her side as our enemy surrounds us. There are far too many of them for me to attempt to stop, so I don't threaten them. Instead, I help Tris stand, supporting her weight as the soldiers point their weapons at us.

Eric limps up to join them, and I wish fiercely in that moment that Tris had killed him when she had the chance.

"Divergent rebels," he says, "surrender your weapons."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please take a moment to let me know what you thought of this chapter. Reviews always make my day!


	33. Divergent Chapters 34 to 38 - Tobias' Simulation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to those who reviewed the last chapter, and to my wonderful beta reader, Rosalie! This chapter takes us almost to the end of "Divergent."

**"** **Divergent" Chapters 34 to 38 - Tobias' Simulation**

Tris leans on me heavily, barely able to stay on her feet. There are guns pressed to our backs as the Dauntless soldiers force us toward Abnegation headquarters. My father works there – used to work there, I guess I should say now – but I rarely entered the building. This isn't the best time to start.

The guards escort us into an office where Jeanine sits at the desk, talking on the phone. I don't know whose office she took, but it doesn't really matter. The regular occupant is probably dead now.

Jeanine's voice is aggravated as she says, "Well, send some of them _back_ on the train, then. It needs to be well guarded, it's the most important part – I'm not talk – I have to go." She hangs up and turns her attention to us.

"Divergent rebels," one of the soldiers says unnecessarily.

"Yes, I can see that," she states as she takes off her glasses and examines us carefully. Pointing to Tris, she adds, " _You_ , I expected. All the trouble with your aptitude test results made me suspicious from the beginning." I wonder what trouble she means, but it's not important now.

She looks at me and continues. "You, Tobias – or should I call you Four? – managed to elude me. Everything about you checked out: test results, initiation simulations, everything. But here you are nonetheless." Apparently, my father's instructions helped me more than I realized. It's probably the only good thing I learned from him.

Jeanine folds her hands in front of her, leaning her chin on them as she asks, "Perhaps you could explain to me how that is?" _Yeah, I'll be sure to do that._

"You're the genius," I reply coldly. "Why don't you tell me?"

She smiles, probably enjoying the opportunity to show how smart she is. "My theory is that you really do belong in Abnegation. That your Divergence is weaker."

She's partly right. I _am_ Abnegation at my core, but my test results only look normal because I faked them. I'm certainly not going to tell her that.

"Your powers of deductive reasoning are stunning," I spit. "Consider me awed."

Tris looks at me, and I can see the pain in her eyes. _She's fading._ I need to end this conversation and get her medical care. I decide to push Jeanine; hopefully, it will cause her to act human to show me I'm wrong.

"Now that your intelligence has been verified," I state, "you might want to get on with killing us. You have a lot of Abnegation leaders to murder, after all."

Jeanine smiles calmly, unflustered by my words and clearly in no hurry. I grit my teeth in frustration, trying not to focus on the way Tris is slumping against me. I slide an arm around her waist, keeping her upright for now, but I know she can't hang on much longer.

"Don't be silly. There is no rush," Jeanine says casually, as if people aren't dying while we talk – as if Tris isn't bleeding to death while I hold her.

"You are both here for an extremely important purpose," she continues. "You see, it perplexed me that the Divergent were immune to the serum that I developed, so I have been working to remedy that. I thought I might have, with the last batch, but as you know, I was wrong. Luckily I have another batch to test."

"Why bother?" Tris asks, surprising me. I thought she was too far gone to be following the conversation.

Jeanine's eyes move to Tris, and she says with a smirk, "I have had a question since I began the Dauntless project, and it is this. Why are most of the Divergent weak-willed, God-fearing nobodies from _Abnegation_ , of all factions?"

The comment adds to my anger, and I can't help responding. "Weak-willed? It requires a _strong_ will to manipulate a simulation, last time I checked. Weak-willed is mind-controlling an army because it's too hard for you to train one yourself."

"I am not a fool," Jeanine states flatly. "A faction of intellectuals is no army. We are tired of being dominated by a bunch of self-righteous idiots who reject wealth and advancement, but we couldn't do this on our own. And your Dauntless leaders were all too happy to oblige me if I guaranteed them a place in our new, improved government."

I snort. "Improved?"

"Yes, improved," Jeanine continues. "Improved, and working toward a world in which people will live in wealth, comfort, and prosperity."

Tris speaks again, her voice slow and heavy. She's barely staying conscious. "At whose expense? All that wealth…doesn't come from nowhere."

"Currently, the factionless are a drain on our resources," Jeanine answers. "As is Abnegation. I am sure that once the remains of your old faction are absorbed into the Dauntless army, Candor will cooperate and we will finally be able to get on with things."

The answer is so evil, so utterly inhumane, that I'm speechless for a moment. Then, the anger surges out of control, and I shout, "Get on with things? Make no mistake. You will be dead before the day is out, you—"

But Jeanine interrupts me. "Perhaps if you could control your temper, you would not be in this situation to begin with, Tobias."

I snap back, "I'm in this situation because you put me here, the second you orchestrated an attack against innocent people."

An almost genuine laugh bursts from Jeanine. "Innocent people? I find that a little funny, coming from you. I would expect Marcus' son to understand that not all those people are innocent. Can you tell me honestly that you wouldn't be happy to discover that your father was killed in the attack?"

I grit my teeth, hating that she knows who I am, hating that she knows about my father, hating that she's right in this particular statement. But she's certainly not right about anything else she's doing, so I force myself to answer.

"No, but at least his evil didn't involve the widespread manipulation of an entire faction and the systematic murder of every political leader we have."

For a few seconds, we simply glare at each other, and then Jeanine clears her throat and continues. "What I was going to say is that soon, dozens of the Abnegation and their young children will be my responsibility to keep in order, and it does not bode well for me that a large number of them may be Divergent like yourselves, incapable of being controlled by the simulations."

_Dozens?_ That's all she expects to survive, and she plans to keep those few survivors in a simulation for what, the rest of their lives? I feel too sick to even answer.

She continues, "Therefore, it was necessary that I develop a new form of simulation to which they are not immune. I have been forced to reassess my own assumptions. That is where you come in. You are correct to say that you are strong-willed. I cannot control your will. But there are a few things I can control."

Tris leans her head on my shoulder, getting weaker from blood loss. For the first time, it truly sinks in that we might not survive this, that Tris might die today. The thought sends fear through me like I've never felt before, along with determination. _I can't let that happen._ I can't let Tris die.

Jeanine's voice breaks through the terror. "I can control what you see and hear, so I created a new serum that will adjust your surroundings to manipulate your will. Those who refuse to accept our leadership must be closely monitored."

She turns to me again, adding, "You will be the first test subject, Tobias. Beatrice, however," and she turns toward Tris with a smile that freezes everything inside me. "You are too injured to be of much use to me, so your execution will occur at the conclusion of this meeting."

The panic and terror reach a new level, something I didn't even know existed. It's as if my fear landscape was a playground – my worst fears nothing but games compared with this. I meet Tris' eyes, unable to speak as I look at the tears she blinks back.

"No," I finally manage to say, my voice trembling badly. I shake my head. "I would rather die."

"I'm afraid you don't have much of a choice in the matter," Jeanine says in a light, casual tone, as if she hasn't done anything wrong. It makes me even more desperate, and in that moment, I know what I need to do.

She's right that I don't have much choice, but I do have _one_. Jeanine wants to try her new serum on _someone_. If I'm not available, she'll treat Tris – fix her up to try the serum on her. I don't know what comes after this life, if anything, but I do know there are some things, some people, worth dying for. For me, Tris is at the top of that list.

My arm pulls away from Tris' waist so I can take her face in my hands, and I kiss her. I kiss her like it's the last kiss of my life, the last time I'll ever feel anything good. It's also my last chance to tell her that I love her, but I don't say the words, not with what I'm about to do. I won't leave her with that guilt.

Instead, the moment I pull away from Tris, I lunge across the desk and seize Jeanine's throat with both hands, squeezing with the full strength of desperation. Either I kill her, or the guards kill me. There are no other choices that let Tris live.

But the guards don't kill me. Instead, two of them grab me, pulling and twisting and hitting with irresistible force. They finally manage to rip me away from Jeanine and shove me to the floor, grinding my face into the carpet. One of them sits with his knees on my shoulders and his hands on my head. I'm still struggling with everything I have, but I've taught fighting enough to know that there's no escape from this position.

_I've failed._ Failed in the most important moment of my life. In the only moment that really matters.

Over my own struggles, I hear a mad scramble as Tris tries to fight, too, but she's in no condition to win right now, and the other guards subdue her quickly.

Behind that noise, Jeanine coughs and sputters, but she's clearly still alive. I hear the sound of a desk drawer opening, followed by Jeanine walking toward me. It's a slight distraction for the guards, and I take the opportunity to bring my elbow back hard, managing to hit the guard who's pinning me to the floor. He responds by slamming my head violently with the butt of his gun, and for a moment everything spins. My body goes slack, and my vision doubles.

I must black out for a bit, because then I'm waking up, groggy and disoriented. Time has passed, but I don't know how much, and it's a struggle to remember exactly what happened. There was a fight, but I can't quite recall who I was fighting or why. It was something to do with Abnegation, with Jeanine, with Tris…. _Tris._ She's in danger. I have to act now.

I struggle to my feet, finding it difficult to balance. My fingers reach up, and I feel a painful lump that's just starting to grow on the side of my head. I must have a concussion; that must be why I'm so disoriented, and why the room is spinning in front of me. But I force myself to focus. Tris needs my help.

With a tremendous effort, I manage to clear my vision, only to see that Tris is gone. They must have taken her away already. Panic flares through my confusion, eliminating the remaining fog, and I see that Jeanine is standing against the wall, still recovering from my choke hold.

Before the guards can stop me, I leap at her, wrapping my fingers around her neck again, determined to kill her or make them kill me. But I'm still too weak and dizzy, and a guard pulls me back, keeping me away from her. For another moment, I struggle fiercely, glaring at her, but it does no good.

"Get him out of my sight," Jeanine says hoarsely. "Give him the serum and let me know if it works."

The guard hauls me out of the room and down the hallway, and I temporarily stop fighting, waiting until we're out of Jeanine's earshot. At best, I have one more chance to escape in time to save Tris; I have to do everything I can to make it work.

As we round the corner, the guard drops his hold and shifts beside me so I can see him. It's my best opportunity to escape, and I'm about to strike when I realize that the guard is _Uriah_. An enormous surge of relief rushes through me. I don't know how he found his way here, but he's probably the only person besides Tris I'd be willing to trust right now.

"We have to get out of here, Four," he says fiercely. "Now!"

"No," I respond in a firm voice. "Not without Tris. Where did they take her?"

I get my answer in the expression on his face, and the tears in his eyes. It feels like the world is ending.

"I'm sorry," he whispers. "I tried, but I didn't get here in time. They…they executed her."

My body goes limp, all the strength leaving it at once, and I slump against the wall for support, gasping. _He must be wrong._ Somehow, she must still be alive. She must.

Uriah gulps hard and talks through his tears, his tone increasingly urgent. "I know it's hard, but we have to go now. People are still dying. And Zeke is still out there. We have to stop the simulation."

He tries to hold my gaze, but I look away. Some part of me knows that he's right, but a larger part of me doesn't care anymore. How can I continue in a world without Tris?

But then I remember her words when she refused to run. _"My family."_ I have to save her parents. It's the only way left to save a piece of her. To honor her.

I've spent my life pushing my emotions down and forcing myself to face the unbearable, but at this moment it's the hardest thing I've ever done. I close my eyes and focus on slowing my breathing, pulling air into my reluctant lungs and letting it shudder back out of me. One, two, three times.

When I open my eyes, I'm numb. There is no feeling left in me, not even anger. There is nothing except the mission.

"Where do we need to go?" I ask.

"Back to Dauntless headquarters," he answers quietly. "I heard them talking. They're using our control room to run this. I know where it is, but I don't know how to work the computers."

"I do." My voice is deadly.

* * *

The hardest part is getting out of Abnegation headquarters and to the train tracks without being seen, but I know all the hidden paths through this area. I spent my childhood using them to avoid prying eyes – to hide from my father and to hide the evidence of his beatings from everyone else.

The trains are running again, and deserted, so we swing into an empty car and crouch out of sight as I try to form a plan. We have one gun and an unknown number of Dauntless soldiers between us and the control room.

I take the gun, sparing Uriah the decision of whether to use it, and how. Most of those soldiers will be under the influence of the simulation and won't know what they're doing. I don't want to kill them, but I also know that others will die for every moment I delay. _Tris' parents might die._

And I know that if I had killed Eric and Maria earlier, when I had the chance, Tris might still be alive. I won't hesitate again.

We get off the train on the roof of Dauntless headquarters and force the door to the stairs open. Years of being afraid of heights has made me an expert on this particular door. I haven't leaped into the net since my first day here.

The stairs let us out near the elevator that leads to the control room, and we're able to cross the space without being caught. But I know there will be guards as we leave the elevator. I raise my gun in preparation, but Uriah stops me.

"Can't we fool them?" he asks. "Like I did before?"

"Maybe," I answer hesitantly. It seems risky, and we only have one chance at this. I can't fail again. But I also don't want to kill if I don't have to. So, I hold the gun by my side, ready but below eye level, as we both fix our features into a glazed, expressionless look.

Uriah exits from the elevator first, walking toward the guards calmly, as if there's no doubt he's here to join them. To my surprise, they accept his presence – and mine as I walk past them and into the control room. It's deserted, but it's easy to tell that the simulation is indeed being run from here. One of the monitors has code streaming down it.

No one stops me as I pull the chair back and sit at the computer. It's hard to believe, but Jeanine's arrogance must have blinded her to the possibility that someone would know to come here, that they'd know how to hide from the simulation-bound, and that they'd know how to stop the program.

I fervently hope that arrogance leads to her death by the end of the day.

* * *

The simulation proves to be incredibly difficult to stop. Every time I feel I'm getting close, I run into another block built into the code. I've never seen anything so secure, and so impossible to hack. But I have to keep trying. There's no choice.

I must be deeper in thought than I realize, because I don't hear the soldier approaching. Uriah doesn't stop her and doesn't warn me – I don't know why, only that she's suddenly here, pointing a gun at me.

I stand, raising my own weapon fast, but I can't fire. She looks awake, so I know that she must be part of all this, but in a way that makes it harder to shoot. It makes her more human. And it certainly doesn't help that she's small. _Tris' size._ The comparison sears through me like flame.

"Drop your weapon," I say fiercely, but she doesn't. "Drop your weapon," I repeat, "or I'll fire."

She begins to move toward me, her gun still raised. I don't want to kill her, but she's leaving me no choice.

"Drop your weapon!" I shout.

Instead, she runs at me, and I realize she was bluffing. Her gun must be out of ammunition. She grabs my wrist, trying to wrestle my gun from me, and I fire instinctively.

But she must have sensed my motion, because she ducks out the way in time. Before I can adjust my position, she kicks me in the ribs and twists my wrist again. The gun falls from my fingers, and she dives for it.

I lunge after her, grabbing her and pulling her aside to keep her from reaching the weapon. She's a good fighter for someone her size – very good – and again I'm reminded painfully of Tris. But I can't let her stop me.

My fist connects with her jaw, hard, and she cringes away, throwing up her hands to protect her face. The motion reminds me of myself, trying to stay safe when my father would hit me. For just a moment, I pause, and she kicks the gun back with her foot, moving it farther away from both of us. _She's clever._

As I'm thinking that, she aims a kick at my stomach, but I'm too fast for her. I catch her foot in mid-air and use it to throw her to the floor before I bring my own foot back, ready to kick her in the ribs. But I hesitate again, thinking of Eric – no, it was Peter – kicking Tris in the side when he attacked her.

I shake my head, trying to clear it. I need to stop thinking about her.

The soldier rolls onto her knees and reaches for the gun. My fingers twist into her hair, wrenching her back and smashing her head into the wall. Again, I think of Tris. I don't even know why this time. It's almost as if her voice is whispering through my mind.

_Stop it_ , I tell myself firmly. _She's not here. She's…._ But I can't finish that thought.

The woman kicks me, twisting out of my grasp while I'm distracted, and launches herself at the gun again. This time, she succeeds in reaching it, and she flips onto her back and points it at me. I move at her, fast, hoping it takes her a moment to summon the courage to fire.

She climbs to her feet, still aiming at me, but she doesn't shoot, and I keep moving. I have to stop her _now_.

Then I reach her, quickly grabbing ahold of her, but she does something so unexpected that I don't know how to respond. She turns the gun in her hands and presses it into my fingers as she hands it to me.

My mind freezes in confusion even as my muscles automatically push the barrel against her forehead.

Why didn't she shoot me? Why is she giving me the weapon after fighting so hard for it? _This isn't what soldiers do._

My confusion increases when she reaches out and places her palm over my heart. She doesn't try to push me away, or try to fight. She just holds her hand there, even as I click the bullet into the chamber.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please take a moment to let me know what you thought of this chapter. There's just one more chapter left of "Divergent," so I'll be posting that soon, but in the meantime, reviews would really make my day!


	34. Divergent Chapter 39 - Leaving Dauntless

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who has reviewed this story so far, and to my fantastic beta reader, Rosalie! I really appreciate all of your time and encouragement! This is the last chapter of "Divergent."

  
**"** **Divergent" Chapter 39 - Leaving Dauntless**

I can't shoot. This doesn't make any sense. She's not acting like a soldier, let alone an enemy. She stands there with her hand on my chest, almost caressing me, as if she's trying to connect with me. To show me she's human.

It strikes me hard how much her slight build is like Tris', and I swear I hear her voice saying my name. But she's gone. I know she is, even if I still can't make myself believe it and can't even begin to accept it.

I close my eyes, trying to clear my head. I'm still holding the gun firmly, but I'm no longer focused on it. Instead, my thoughts are shifting. Something isn't right here.

The soldier steps closer to me, carefully, and wraps her arms around me, embracing me like a friend. Like a lover. _Like Tris._

My heart is racing now, because suddenly everything makes sense. Suddenly, I _understand_. I'm in a simulation. Jeanine put me under it when I was on the floor, when I thought they had knocked me out for a moment. And that means that everything since then was fake, and this is….

The gun drops from my hand, and I'm grabbing her by the shoulders, pushing her back to see her face, my breathing rough and uneven. She cries out, and I know the voice, and then I can see her, finally see her face. The life returns to me so abruptly it's painful.

" _Tris_."

I kiss her hard, pulling her fiercely into my arms, off the floor, holding her so close there's no room for anything between us. _She's here. She's alive. Somehow, she survived, and found me, and brought me back to her._

I set her down, my eyes taking in every inch of her face, desperate for reassurance that it's truly her. My fingers trace her forehead, her eyebrows, her cheeks, her lips. God, those lips. It's really her.

Some primal sound of relief and pain and joy and love comes out of me, and then I'm kissing her again as my eyes burn with tears. I haven't cried since I was nine, but I don't care in the slightest right now. All that matters is that I'm holding Tris.

She pulls herself against me again, burying her face in my shirt and pressing into my chest as she cries. Her body sags a little, and I hold her close, supporting her. In my joy, I forgot that she was shot – forgot how much blood she lost. I can't imagine what she went through to get here.

_And then I almost killed her._ The thought is so horrifying that I have to push it away – can't even admit to its presence.

"How did you do it?" she asks, talking into my chest.

"I don't know," I answer honestly. And then I realize that the whispers I kept hearing, that kept making me pause, were her. "I just heard your voice."

For a long moment, we stand there, holding each other. She may be having trouble supporting her own weight – I wouldn't know, because I can't let go of her enough to see. But finally she pulls back, and I manage to release her. She turns toward the screens, and I see them, really see them, for the first time. They look much like they did before, but now I don't know what I was doing when I thought I was trying to disable the program.

"Was _I_ running the simulation?" It's a terrible thought.

"I don't know if you were running it so much as monitoring it," Tris says softly. "It's already complete. I have no idea how, but Jeanine made it so it could work on its own."

I shake my head, not sure if she's right or not but desperately wanting to believe her. I decide to let myself. "It's…incredible," I finally say. "Terrible, evil…but incredible."

Tris' eyes focus on one of the screens, and she shouts urgently, "Tobias, now!"

I don't pause to look at what she saw. Instead, I race to the computer bank and begin shutting down the program. It's incredibly complicated, but now that I can actually see it, I'm sure I can stop it. My fingers fly wildly, my mind racing even faster as I force my way into the program and disable it.

"Tobias!" Tris says again, even more urgently, just as I'm pressing the last key.

I turn to the monitors, watching as people in Dauntless black go still. They look around in confusion, dropping their weapons, and a fresh wave of relief goes through me. _It's over._ I did it.

Tris collapses into a chair, releasing a sigh as her entire body sags. I want to comfort her, and want her to comfort me, but this isn't the time. Right now, I need to get the hard drive. The data will be backed up elsewhere, I'm sure, but if I can interrupt the program for long enough, then Jeanine won't be able to resume it without injecting everyone with new transmitters. It's the best I can do.

I crouch next to the computer, ripping off the case and beginning to remove the hard drive. "I have to get the data," I explain to Tris, "or they'll just start the simulation again."

With a wrench, I yank the drive free, holding it up and saying, "Got it." I offer it to Tris. After all, she did far more than I did to obtain it. She shoves it into her back pocket as she climbs unsteadily to her feet.

"We have to leave," she says, her voice exhausted but determined. She must be running on pure adrenaline at this point, and probably has been for hours. How long was I under the simulation?

She points to a screen that shows Dauntless fighting each other. Those who were under the simulation are in open battle with those who ran it – shoving each other, fighting, running, shooting, dying. For a moment, I wonder where Zeke and Shauna are.

But Tris is right that we have to leave. "Yes, we do," I agree tensely.

Wrapping an arm around her – carefully avoiding her injury – I pull her close. "Come on," I murmur.

Together, we walk toward the elevator, but as we enter the hallway, I see dead bodies on the floor. A wave of panic goes through me as I look for Uriah among them, but he's not here. It takes me a moment to realize that he was _never_ really here. He was part of my simulation. One of these dead guards must be who I thought was him, and Tris must have killed him to reach me – must have killed them all.

_She killed them but not me._ I don't know why.

A strangled cry of grief emerges from her as she pauses next to one of the bodies, and my eyes drop to the still form. With a jolt, I recognize her father, Andrew. I thought I was stopping the simulation in order to save her parents, and instead he died helping her reach me.

Tris vomits against the wall, overcome for a moment by pain and grief. She crouches, holding her hand over her mouth as she tries not to sob.

I should comfort her, but my body is too rigid with horror and guilt. _I was supposed to stop this._ Tris is alive – thank God for that – but I failed in every possible way. I couldn't save her, couldn't save her father, couldn't even save myself. _She_ did that.

She's breathing hard now, but then she stands, pulling herself together enough to continue. With the sight, my muscles unlock, and I join her in the elevator. There are no words in me yet, but if she has the strength to move, then I must as well.

The elevator lets us out on the glass floor, into a room filled with shouting Dauntless. Confusion and anger surround us, pressing into us from all sides as we make our way through the crowd. Tris looks around repeatedly, as if she's trying to find someone, but I don't know who, and she can't hear me over the noise.

For lack of a better option, I guide her out of the building into the bright sunlight. Again, I wonder how long I was under the simulation. Is this even the same day?

I'm surprised when Tris' brother, Caleb, runs toward us and hugs Tris tightly. He must have left Erudite to help his family. Somehow, they knew to come here.

"Dad?" he asks Tris, and fingers of guilt tighten around my chest again. She shakes her head, unable to answer.

"Well," Caleb continues with a small sob. "He would have wanted it that way." For a moment, I don't understand, and then I do. Their mother must have died too.

My eyes close as the guilt tightens its grip even harder. I didn't save either of them. For all I know, I contributed to their deaths. Why didn't I kill Eric and Maria when I had the chance? Maybe I could have prevented all this.

I take a step closer to Tris, unsure what to say but needing the comfort of her presence. A movement catches my attention, and I stop in mid-step, my entire body going rigid as all thought leaves me.

My _father_ is right in front of me, walking toward me. _What is he doing here?_

He comes closer, moving easily while I stand frozen in shock, and to my horror, he _embraces_ me. A lifetime of fear and agony, of bad memory after bad memory, fills me in a single instant, rooting my feet to the ground in a panic attack so intense I can't even remember how to breathe. After everything I've just been through, he shouldn't be able to affect me this way, but somehow he does.

"Son," he says with a sigh that is supposed to be relief. Even in this moment, I know it's fake, like every sign of caring he's ever shown for me. I wince, but I still can't regain control of my limbs, so I can't move away from him.

Then, Tris pushes her way between us, her back against my chest as she shoves Marcus away from me.

"Hey," she says roughly. "Get away from him." Her presence lets me breathe again, allowing thought to enter my mind.

"Stay away," she hisses at my father, and I don't know if her words make me feel better or worse. After everything she's faced, and as exhausted as she is, _she's_ protecting _me_. She's so much stronger than I am…. I can't help feeling amazed by her, even as I'm ashamed of my own weakness.

Caleb tries to intervene, asking, "Beatrice, what are you doing?" Of course he trusts my father. Almost everyone does. Marcus has spent his life hiding the monster inside him from everyone except me and my mother.

Caleb's incredulity restores my voice, and I speak softly, just her name. "Tris." Saying it gives me strength.

Marcus is staring at Tris with his false expression – his public face that is filled with innocence. But he doesn't fool her.

"Not all those Erudite articles were full of lies," she says fiercely.

"What are you talking about?" my father asks, sounding quiet and wounded. "I don't know what you've been told, Beatrice, but–"

She interrupts him in a voice of cold fury. "The only reason I haven't shot you yet is because _he's_ the one who should get to do it. Stay away from him or I'll decide I no longer care."

Her words finally release the lock on my muscles, and I slip my hands around her arms, squeezing gratefully. I can't believe how lucky I am to have her in my life, to have her still alive and here with me.

"We have to go," I say softly, my voice still unsteady. "The train should be here any second." She moves with me toward the tracks, and Caleb and Marcus walk with us. I'm vaguely aware that Peter follows, too. It's hard to imagine how this particular group ended up together.

"Sorry," Tris mutters to me, surprising me. What could she possibly think she did wrong?

"You have nothing to be sorry for," I answer firmly, lacing my fingers tightly with hers, feeling her strength ease the shaking in my body.

"If we take the train in the opposite direction, out of the city instead of in, we can get to Amity headquarters," Tris says. "That's where the others went." I don't know which others she means, but I accept her decision without hesitation. She's clearly in charge right now, and she's certainly been doing a better job than I have.

"What about Candor?" Caleb asks. "What do you think they'll do?" No one answers. I don't know enough about what has happened to respond, and apparently nobody else is sure one way or the other.

Abnegation must be completely destroyed if we're only looking to Amity and Candor for help. Crushing guilt returns with the thought, but I push it away; I don't have time to wallow right now.

Tris is beginning to fade, finally overwhelmed by everything she's done and everything she's been through. I pick her up, holding her close the way I did after Peter attacked her. I'm uncomfortably aware of his presence nearby.

I hold her until the train arrives, but then I have to set her down so she can board it. It's difficult to let go.

We jog beside the train, and Tris throws herself into it, landing on her uninjured shoulder. I pull myself on, making sure she's safe before I help Caleb climb clumsily aboard.

My father and Peter make their own way into the car. For a brief moment, I think about blocking their way to prevent them from joining us, but instead I sit down next to Tris. I do, however, place myself between her and them, turning my back on them so we can pretend they don't exist.

I pull her close to me, bending my knees to block the others' eyes so we have a private space of sorts. This way, I can look just at her.

"My parents," she whispers. "They died today. They died for _me_."

For a moment, I again struggle with the weight of my guilt and failure, but her words trigger another line of thought. Abnegation has teachings on when to sacrifice yourself for another, and perhaps she can draw some comfort from those.

"They loved you," I say gently. "To them there was no better way to show you." She nods slowly, looking away as she thinks about that idea.

I think about it too, but it leads me in a direction I wasn't anticipating. She killed people today – that's clear – but she didn't kill me. Not to save herself, and not even to save others.

" _You_ nearly died today," I whisper, forcing the words out. I need to know why she did what she did. "I almost shot you. Why didn't you shoot me, Tris?"

"I couldn't do that," she says simply. "It would have been like shooting myself."

There are too many emotions attached to that answer, and they all churn through me at once. Guilt, fear, gratitude, love, anger. I made my choice when I attacked Jeanine. If only one of us can live, I want it to be Tris, yet she nearly died to save me, just as her parents died to save her.

_I'm not worth that._ But her answer makes me feel like I could be, and in that instant I'm strong enough to finally tell her what I've been thinking since the night Peter attacked her.

I lean close, my mouth almost touching hers. As I'm about to speak, it occurs to me that she might not be ready to hear this, so I moderate my words.

"I have something to tell you," I say softly. She runs her fingers along my hand, and I continue. "I might be in love with you."

Immediately, I feel like the words are too intense, so I smile a little and add, "I'm waiting until I'm sure to tell you, though."

She smiles too and murmurs, "That's sensible of you. We should find some paper so you can make a list or a chart or something."

I laugh, feeling some of the tension leave me as I do, and I slide my nose along her jaw, losing myself in her scent, and her intoxicating presence. My lips press gently behind her ear.

"Maybe I'm already sure, and I just don't want to frighten you."

She laughs lightly, just a little. "Then you should know better," she says.

"Fine," I finally respond, a boldness entering me. "Then I love you."

She presses her mouth to mine, kissing me with a deep passion that pulls everything inside me toward her. For a long time, we kiss like that, and I forget that the others are there, forget that there's a war outside the train, forget that we no longer have a home or a position in an uncertain world.

All I do is hold Tris to me and kiss her, this amazing woman I love, and I know that nothing else matters. Nothing else will _ever_ matter.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll be taking a small break before starting the chapters from "Insurgent." As I've mentioned before, I'm only going to write the first ten chapters of that book - to the point where Wee Kraken's "Killing Four" story starts. I like her version of the rest of "Insurgent" from Tobias' POV, and I don't feel I would add enough to justify writing the rest of that book myself, so I'll stop there.
> 
> In the meantime, please let me know what you thought of the "Divergent" chapters! Your reviews make such a difference whenever I'm having a lousy day, and they motivate me to write more than anything else could.
> 
> And by the way, if you haven't checked out my other stories yet, please take a look at them. You can get to them from my Profile page (just click on the "Windchimed" link at the top of this page). Thanks again!


	35. "Insurgent" Chapter 1 – Arriving in Amity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry it took me so long to get back to this story. Life and my other stories all got busy... Anyway, thank you to everyone who has reviewed, favorited, and/or followed this story! I really appreciate the support. Thank you also to my wonderful beta reader, Rosalie!

**"** **Insurgent" Chapter 1 – Arriving in Amity**

Tris falls into a restless sleep as the train continues its rumbling path toward the gate that leads to Amity. I'm not surprised, given everything she's been through, but I can't help worrying as I watch her still form. She came far too close to death multiple times within the last twenty-four hours. Once at my hands.

The sun begins to set, and in its fading light, I can see Caleb watching me warily, some combination of distrust and dislike clear in his expression. Behind him, Peter and Marcus both move their eyes my way from time to time. I try my best to ignore the whole group of them, particularly _him_ , but it's difficult. If Tris weren't here, I'd leap out at the nearest flat spot and take my chances on foot. But she needs me.

She murmurs occasionally in her sleep, and it's heartbreaking to hear her calling to her parents. Out of all the people who could have died trying to stop Jeanine, why did it have to be them and not _my_ father?

The train pounds down another stretch as the air gets darker, but even without good lighting, I know that we're getting close to where we need to jump. Reluctantly, I shake Tris' left shoulder – the one that wasn't shot – to rouse her.

"Will," she gasps as she wakes, and something sinks into my stomach. There are many reasons she might be saying his name right now, but none of them are good.

Still, I swallow my emotions and face her calmly. She needs me to be strong. "Tris, come on," I murmur, searching her eyes to assess her mental condition. "We have to jump."

She nods hesitantly, and I help her to her feet before guiding her to the door of the train car. Through the opening, I can see the gate now, and to my relief, it's completely deserted. I nod to Peter, who leaps out. Marcus follows him, and I instinctively grasp Tris' hand as he steps closer to me in the process.

Caleb follows next, leaving Tris and me alone in the car. I glance at her and am reassured to see her eyes already processing the passing ground, looking for a landing spot. Holding her hand firmly, I leap with her.

We land hard, running forward several steps to spread the momentum. We don't fall, though she makes a muffled sound of pain and bites her lip. It makes me wince. But the Abnegation in her refuses to dwell on her own agony, and she instead moves to her brother's side.

"Okay?" she asks him. He's sitting in the grass, rubbing his knee and sniffing tears away, but they're probably not from injury. He looks fine, and I'm not surprised when he nods.

I lead the way to the gate, surveying the area around us out of habit even though it's obvious there's no one else here. It's strange to see the city's exit abandoned.

"There are supposed to be Dauntless guards here," my father says, his voice radiating authority and scorn. "Where are they?"

After a lifetime of being punished if I didn't answer his questions immediately, it's impossible not to respond. "They were probably under the simulation," I say, "and are now…who knows where, doing who knows what."

Everyone is silent at that, and I take the opportunity to walk up to the small metal box on the right side of the gate. It opens easily, revealing a keypad, and I begin typing the code.

"Let's hope the Erudite didn't think to change this combination," I comment idly. I doubt very much that they did, but I'm still a little relieved when the gate clicks open.

"How did you know that?" Caleb asks, his voice heavy with grief, and I remember that Tris isn't the only one mourning Andrew and Natalie right now.

"I worked in the Dauntless control room," I explain, trying to sound kinder than I usually do. "Monitoring the security system. We only change the codes twice a year."

Caleb's response is strange. "How lucky." I'm not sure what he's implying, but I don't like the wary look he gives me.

"Luck has nothing to do with it," I snap. "I only worked there because I wanted to make sure I could get out." It's not an entirely true answer, but it's not completely false, either. Thanks to the monster standing only a few feet away from me, my distrust of people runs deep. I don't like the idea of being trapped anywhere – even a place as large as this city.

We march forward, Peter holding his bloody arm to his chest while Marcus keeps a hand on his other shoulder. It's hard to say if he's trying to help my most brutal initiate or is ensuring that he doesn't escape, but I don't really care either way. I'm still not entirely sure why Peter is with us in the first place.

Caleb begins crying silently, wiping the tears from his cheeks every few seconds. It obviously bothers Tris, because she moves ahead of him, taking the lead in a clear attempt to avoid having to look at him. I walk next to her, letting the closeness comfort both of us, but I don't take her hand or touch her in any other way. It would probably be too much for her right now, and I know she can't let herself break down in grief just yet.

It's a long walk to the Amity compound, and darkness settles firmly around us as we go. Tris maintains a steady pace despite her injuries and exhaustion, and the rest of us match it.

Caleb breathes an audible sigh of relief when the first pinpricks of light become visible in the distance. Gradually, they grow until it's obvious that they're windows in the group of wooden and glass buildings that make up Amity.

As we get closer, we leave the road, opting instead to take a short-cut through one of the orchards. The trees are heavy with fruit, looming over our heads in the dark air in a vaguely threatening manner.

"I know where to go," Marcus says as he abruptly moves past me to take the lead. It's difficult not to flinch.

He leads us past the first building, and I fight the instinct that tells me to head into it instead of following him. It doesn't help that laughter can be heard through one of its open windows – sounding far more appealing than staying near the man who raised me.

He takes us to the second building, opening a door to a silent interior and heading into it without hesitation. The rest of us follow him, our shoes squeaking on the floor.

Marcus stops outside an open door, and through it, I can see Johanna Reyes sitting at a desk, staring out the window. I haven't seen Johanna in a long time, but it's easy to recognize the representative of Amity. A thick scar runs down her face from above her right eyebrow to her lip, leaving her blind in that eye. I've always wondered how she ended up with such a severe injury, but of course we never asked questions like that in Abnegation.

She must hear our footsteps, because she turns to the door. Her face lights up in relief, and she rises quickly.

"Oh, thank God," she says, approaching my father as if she intends to embrace him. I'm seized by a fierce desire to step between them and keep her safely away from _him_ , but fortunately she just grasps his shoulders lightly instead.

"The other members of your party got here a few hours ago," she continues. "But they weren't sure if you had made it." I don't know what party she's referring to, but Tris said something earlier about others, so I assume they must be survivors from Abnegation.

Johanna looks over Marcus' shoulder, her gaze touching on me and then roaming across our group.

"Oh, my," she says in concern. "I'll send for a doctor. I can grant you all permission to stay the night, but tomorrow, our community must decide together. And they will likely not be enthusiastic about a Dauntless presence in our compound." The words don't surprise me, but they're frustrating anyway. Tris needs help right now.

It's even worse when Johanna adds, "I of course ask you to turn over any weapons you might have."

I hesitate only briefly before handing my gun to her. We need to at least _look_ like we're cooperating. However, when Tris reaches behind her for the weapon that is concealed under the large Abnegation shirt she's wearing, I grab her hand to stop her. There's a decent chance that Johanna won't notice that particular gun, and if we can keep at least one weapon, we're better off doing so.

Guiding Tris' hand from her back to her side, I lace my fingers with hers to make the movement look casual. And perhaps it works. Johanna doesn't seem to question it at any rate.

"My name is Johanna Reyes," she says, reaching to shake Tris' hand. It's a Dauntless greeting, and it makes clear that she knows Tris is from that faction despite her gray shirt. Still, she doesn't ask if Tris is armed, and we don't raise the topic.

She turns to me next, offering her hand in the same gesture. As I shake it awkwardly, my father begins, "This is T—"

I interrupt immediately. "My name is Four." There's no way I want to be linked to my father any more than I have to, so I'm certainly not going to let him use my real name here.

Before she can question it, or Marcus can protest, I introduce the others. "This is Tris, Caleb, and Peter."

Johanna smiles crookedly. "Welcome to the Amity compound," she says, her gaze on Tris. "Let us take care of you."

* * *

An Amity nurse checks Tris first, but apparently her gunshot wound has already been properly stitched. I don't know who did that or when, but I'm glad of it.

The nurse gives her a salve that is supposed to speed up the healing process and then leads Peter off to the hospital ward. His injury has definitely not been treated yet.

Johanna takes the rest of us to the cafeteria, where a group of people in Abnegation gray waits. I try to hang back, feeling uncomfortable as they greet Marcus with obvious joy and relief, but it's impossible to avoid them entirely with Tris hanging onto my arm for support. So, I stand stiffly, hoping that no one will recognize me, as a girl who appears to be a friend of Tris and Caleb's exchanges a suppressed smile with them.

I stiffen even more when one of the Abnegation approaches Tris. But she just offers a cup of steaming liquid, her voice gentle as she murmurs, "Drink this. It will help you sleep as it helped some of the others sleep. No dreams."

It's a tempting offer, and I can't blame Tris when she seizes the cup and downs it in little more than one gulp. Her body begins sagging almost immediately, and I support her as a young woman from Amity leads us down a hallway to a one-person room.

Tris collapses on the bed, asleep before her head even touches the pillow, but I take a moment to adjust her position. I can't move the gun from where it's hidden behind her back – not with a witness from Amity standing right here – but I do make sure there's no pressure on her injured shoulder.

"You can sleep in one of the nearby rooms," the woman tells me. But I instantly tense at the idea. I do _not_ want to leave Tris right now.

"I'll be fine on the floor here," I answer firmly.

"It would be better if you're in another room," the woman insists. "She'll sleep well with that draught, but not if you disturb her with your own dreams."

For another moment, I hesitate, but the reality is that she's probably right. With everything that's happened today, and with my father nearby, I'll undoubtedly have nightmares tonight. And while I rarely cry out from them, I do thrash sometimes. That's not likely to help Tris.

"Fine," I mutter, reluctantly following the woman to a room down the hallway. She points out the bathrooms as we pass them, and I nod in acknowledgement, but we're otherwise silent.

The room she leads me to is probably the most comfortable I've ever stayed in, with cheerful colors, nice furniture, and even a little artwork on the walls. Unfortunately, I'm in no mood to appreciate it.

Instead, I pace back and forth, unable to stop thinking about Tris, and the fact that I almost killed her today. How could a simulation possibly have gotten me to do that?

But of course I'm hardly the only one who did something today that goes against every bit of morality I possess. Virtually every member of Dauntless was forced into a war – used as a human weapon to spill innocent blood. And again the guilt crashes through me. I should have found a way to warn them sooner. If not Abnegation, then at least my friends within Dauntless. I should have done _something_.

Now, I don't even know where Zeke and Shauna and Uriah are. Or where the initiates I just finished training are. Or if they're even still alive.

The desire to hit something is getting stronger, but there's no exercise room here, and I don't even dare take a walk. I don't want to be that far away from Tris if something goes wrong, and I don't want to run into my father or be recognized by the other Abnegation.

So, I pace and do push-ups until I'm too exhausted by my own dark thoughts to stay awake any longer. Then, I collapse on the bed and sleep. It's hardly a shock that my dreams are some of the worst of my life.

__

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please take a moment to let me know what you thought of this chapter. As a reminder, I'm only taking this story through the first ten chapters of "Insurgent" (until the point where Wee Kraken's amazing "Killing Four" story starts).
> 
> If you haven't seen my other stories yet, please check them out. Thanks for reading!


	36. Insurgent Chapter 2 – Voting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who reviewed the last chapter, and to my wonderful beta reader, Rosalie! As a reminder to anyone who might not remember, the Amity bake peace serum (which is essentially pot) into their bread. At this point in the story, Tris and Tobias don't know that, but you can definitely see the effect on Tobias' mood across the chapters they're in Amity.

**"** **Insurgent" Chapter 2 – Voting**

I wake up early, feeling unsettled all the way through me. But at the same time, my body lets me know that it's hungry, which is hardly surprising given I didn't eat all day yesterday. So, I return to the cafeteria, taking extra servings of everything they offer and sitting at a table by myself. Not many people are up yet, anyway, and I'm not at all inclined to socialize.

It shouldn't surprise me that the food is good – fresh, of course, since it's grown here – and clearly designed to give pleasure to whoever eats it. I help myself to additional toast and eggs before deciding that it's probably time to wake Tris up.

Breakfast was definitely a good decision, I realize as I walk the cheery corridors of this faction. It's remarkable how much better I feel now. It also seems to wake up the thoughtful part of my brain, because I'm halfway to Tris' room when it occurs to me that she could undoubtedly use a pain-killer to help with her gunshot wound.

So, I change direction, heading back to the infirmary where they helped Tris last night. A young woman in yellow is quick to come to my side, asking what I need. She looks sad when I explain, as if she doesn't like the thought of anyone being injured. It's actually kind of nice to be in a faction that cares about others so much, without everyone being required to ignore themselves in the process the way the Abnegation are.

She returns with a nurse, who is equally kind as he gives me a container of pain medicine, along with instructions on how to use it. As I'm leaving, he even directs me to a stockroom where I can acquire Amity clothing, commenting gently that I'll probably feel more comfortable here if I'm not wearing Dauntless black.

It's a considerate statement, and I select a dark red T-shirt, swapping my filthy black one for it right there, since no one else is in sight. I opt to keep my jeans, though. They're still okay to wear, and I'm hesitant to change those in the stockroom, just in case someone does walk in.

By the time I finally make my way toward Tris' room again, the hallways are filled with people. The entire faction seems to be awake now, buzzing with conversation about their visitors and about the meeting that will be held in a half-hour to decide if we can stay. That's not much time, and it reinforces the need to wake Tris up soon.

Fortunately, she seems to already be up, since she answers my knock immediately.

"Come in," she calls, and I open the door, stepping only halfway in. She's still sitting on her bed, and I don't want to invade her privacy.

Leaning against the doorframe, I tell her, "The Amity are meeting in a half hour, to decide our fate." It sounds kind of funny now that I voice it aloud.

Tris shakes her head as she stands, moving over to me. "Never thought my fate would be in the hands of a bunch of Amity."

"Me either," I admit freely. I feel oddly chatty today – and considerably more relaxed than yesterday. Maybe that's just Amity's influence. They're all so friendly here.

The thought reminds me of where I was fifteen minutes ago. "Oh, I brought you something." Taking out the bottle I got at the infirmary, I prepare a dose for her, adding "Pain medicine. Take a dropperful every six hours."

She doesn't hesitate to take it, squeezing it into her throat and swallowing quickly before murmuring, "Thanks." The response makes me feel Abnegation, knowing that I helped her by bringing her what she needed without being asked.

Hooking a thumb into my belt loop, I ask her, "How are you, Beatrice?" The full name feels right at the moment.

She apparently disagrees, sounding incredulous as she says, "Did you just call me _Beatrice_?"

Her tone makes me grin. "Thought I would give it a try. Not good?"

"Maybe on special occasions only. Initiation days, Choosing Days…." She looks like she wants to continue, but then her expression turns sad again, and I know she's thinking about the family she used to spend those holidays with.

"It's a deal," I agree, trying to rescue the moment, but it's clearly lost in the aftermath of her parents' death. So, instead I repeat, "How are you, Tris?"

"I'm…." She shakes her head. "I don't know, Four." The use of my nickname surprises me, and I wonder vaguely if it means she's mad at me, or is keeping something from me. "I'm awake. I…." She stops, shaking her head again and looking as if she might cry. And I realize I was stupid to ask her that. Her loss is still too raw for her to be ready to talk yet.

Caressing her cheek, I lean down and touch my lips to hers. I intend it to be gentle and comforting, but she wraps her fingers around my arm, holding me in place, and I can't help but deepen the kiss. It's difficult to get myself to pull away again.

"I know," I reassure her, trying to focus on what we were discussing. "Sorry. I shouldn't have asked." She doesn't answer aloud, instead just watching me for a long moment. Her expression brings out memories of the losses I've suffered, and the grief that accompanied them.

But there are no magic words to make this better for her, so I simply add, "I'll let you get ready," and I step away, closing the door behind me.

* * *

Caleb heads to Tris' room at the same time I do, and we end up walking together, silent as the Abnegation so often are.

When she answers the door, I think for a fleeting second that we have the wrong room, and then I find myself staring at Tris. She's wearing dark red pants that have been rolled up multiple times and a gray shirt that is much too big for her, but that's not what makes her look so different.

"You cut your hair," Caleb states, raising his eyebrows in shock. It's certainly a true statement. Tris' long hair has been shortened to a bob that runs along her jawline. It dramatically alters her appearance, though I can't say it's either good or bad. She's attractive both ways.

"Yeah," she answers her brother. "It's…too hot for long hair."

Caleb and I both know that's an excuse, I'm sure, but neither of us calls her on it. "Fair enough," he mutters before we begin the long trek to the greenhouse where the Amity will be meeting.

It unquestionably _is_ hot outside, and humid, too – almost stifling as we walk through the dazzling green that is this faction.

"Does everyone know you're Marcus' son?" Caleb asks. "The Abnegation, I mean?"

The question makes me bristle, though not as badly as I would have expected. For whatever reasons, I _do_ seem to be in a good mood today. "Not to my knowledge," I answer calmly, "and I would appreciate it if you didn't mention it."

His Erudite side emerges in his response. "I don't need to mention it. Anyone with eyes can see it for themselves." The comment should make me frown, but instead _he_ does. "How old are you, anyway?"

"Eighteen."

"And you don't think you're too old to be with my little sister?"

The idea is ridiculous, and I can't prevent my snort of laughter. "She isn't _your little_ anything." Tris may be small, but she's easily stronger, smarter, and more mature than the two of us put together.

"Stop it," she snaps, cutting off any response that Caleb might have made. "Both of you." I hadn't thought we were arguing, really, but we have almost caught up with the crowd ahead of us, so she's probably right to tell us to be quiet.

We follow the group of people in yellow into the enormous greenhouse. Its circular shape surrounds a massive tree, and I find myself looking around at the plants and trees that fill it. There is life everywhere in Amity.

Johanna Reyes stands on the raised roots of the incredible tree while the others begin sitting on the ground around her. They'll listen to her talk first, I recall from Faction History class, and then they'll discuss the issue until they reach a consensus. I remember wondering when I was younger if a system like that could possibly work, but today it feels natural – as if it's the only reasonable way to make a decision this big.

Beside me, Tris stops walking, her face frozen in sadness for a moment before she masks it, and my hand migrates to her lower back, guiding her gently to an area behind where the Abnegation are sitting.

Leaning close to her, I murmur, "I like your hair that way." It draws a small smile from her before we both take our seats. She leans against me, her arm pressing along mine, and I know we're both comforted by the touch.

I'm distracted by Tris, so I don't see how the gathering officially starts, but suddenly there's complete silence.

"We have before us today an urgent question," Johanna begins, "which is: How will we conduct ourselves in this time of conflict as people who pursue peace?"

I expect her to continue, but somehow the Amity know that she's done, because they immediately break into hundreds of small conversations. It's an impressive sight – an entire faction talking as individuals, yet all discussing the same subject with the same goal of reaching accord.

"How do they get anything done?" Tris asks, obviously less enamored of the process than I am.

"They don't care about efficiency," I explain calmly. "They care about agreement. Watch."

And she does as the process continues. Gradually, people gather into larger groups, joining into fewer voices that represent the conclusions the various individuals have reached.

"This is bizarre," Tris comments.

A few days ago, I probably would have agreed with her. But everything feels different in Amity – sweeter and more hopeful. Smiling a little, I respond, "I think it's beautiful."

She gives me a look, and I laugh as I add, "What? They each have an equal role in government; they each feel equally responsible. And it makes them care; it makes them kind. I think that's beautiful."

It's true. I would have loved having a voice when I lived in Abnegation. How can I deny that to anyone here, particularly with the former leader of the city sitting nearby and reminding me of all the wrong he's done in his life?

Tris sighs, skepticism written all over her face. "I think it's unsustainable," she tells me. "Sure, it works for the Amity. But what happens when not everyone wants to strum banjos and grow crops? What happens when someone does something terrible and talking about it can't solve the problem?"

I can only shrug, knowing that's exactly the situation we face. "I guess we'll find out."

The heat sinks through my body as we wait, making my limbs feel heavier. My stomach begins to rumble, too, as breakfast wears off and yesterday's lack of food catches up to me. Slowly, it begins to dent my good mood, but I sit as patiently as I can, drawing on my sixteen years of practice growing up.

Eventually, the Amity send representatives of each viewpoint into a single circle in the center of the room, one that includes Johanna. I watch as they talk, their voices too quiet to overhear.

"They're not going to let us argue with them, are they?" Tris asks. The question seems to defy everything about this faction. Argument is despised here.

"I doubt it."

Tris fidgets as the last group finishes its discussion. I'm still hopeful as the participants take their seats again, leaving Johanna standing alone in the middle of the greenhouse.

"Our faction has had a close relationship with Erudite for as long as any of us can remember," Johanna begins. It's a slightly worrisome start. "We need each other to survive, and we have always cooperated with each other." Beside me, Tris shifts nervously. I can't blame her.

Johanna's voice is slow and careful, but it carries easily through the room as she continues. "But we have also had a strong relationship with Abnegation in the past, and we do not think it is right to revoke the hand of friendship when it has for so long been extended."

Tris wipes her forehead, perhaps in relief or perhaps from the heat. But we both stay silent as Amity's representative announces their decision. "We feel that the only way to preserve our relationships with both factions is to remain impartial and uninvolved." The words sink coldly into me. "Your presence here, though welcome, complicates that."

As many times as I've been betrayed in my life, it seems like it should eventually get easier to take. But somehow, having the faction of the _kind_ turn us away in our most desperate hour…. It seems almost as bad as what the Dauntless leaders did in choosing murder and mind-control.

Johanna's voice seems slightly strained as she continues. "We have arrived at the conclusion that we will establish our faction headquarters as a safe house for members of all factions, under a set of conditions. The first is that no weaponry of any kind is allowed on the compound." Great – we'll all be sitting ducks when our enemies come after us.

"The second is that if any serious conflict arises, whether verbal or physical, all involved parties will be asked to leave." It's an absurd expectation, the idea that I can't even stand up to Marcus without getting kicked out. But it's nothing compared with what Johanna adds next.

"The third is that the conflict may not be discussed, even privately, within the confines of this compound." The statement seems to echo through me, destroying the respect and affection I felt for this faction just a few minutes ago. They're choosing to wear blinders so they can ignore the effects of their own decision – can pretend that no one is dying for lack of their help. It's beyond disgusting.

"And the fourth is that everyone who stays here must contribute to the welfare of this environment by working. We will report this to Erudite, Candor, and Dauntless as soon as we can."

Johanna's eyes move across the crowd, landing on me and then Tris. "You are welcome to stay here if and only if you can abide by our rules. That is our decision."

It's a cowardly and despicable conclusion, and all I can do for a moment is stare, amazed that anyone here could consider themselves to be _kind_ while supporting it.

"We won't be able to stay long," Tris whispers, and I just nod.

"No, we won't."

__

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm having trouble finding time to write time at the moment, so it will probably be at least a week before the next update. Sorry. In the meantime, please let me know what you thought of this chapter. :-)


	37. Insurgent Chapter 3 – Bread and Cheese

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who has followed, favorited, and/or reviewed! Thank you also to my wonderful beta reader, Rosalie, who reviewed this chapter while on vacation in Hawaii. That's dedication! :-)

**"** **Insurgent" Chapter 3 – Bread and Cheese**

Lunch is a helpful thing. It's certainly not enough to restore my good mood after what the Amity decided, but three sandwiches do leave me feeling full and relaxed and more than a little sleepy.

Given how restless I was last night, the combination is enough for me to take a long afternoon nap. When I wake up, I look for Tris, knowing that we need to discuss next steps. We need to figure out how to help the rest of the city, which first means finding others who are on our side.

But I have no luck locating her, despite walking through the orchards and greenhouses multiple times. I'm sweating from the heat by the time I head to dinner, figuring I should at least be able to find her there.

Instead, I find her brother, sitting alone at the end of a table with his shirt buttoned haphazardly and his hair tousled as he reads a book. I'm not particularly inclined to sit with him, but the other tables are filled with Amity or Abnegation, and I'm even less interested in being near them. Besides, Tris will probably want to sit with both of us when she arrives, so I grit my teeth and join Caleb.

He looks up from his book, giving me the type of small smile I grew up seeing. "Hello, Four." At least he's using my Dauntless name – it's a small gesture of peace, and I accept it with a nod.

"Have you seen Tris?" I ask, wondering again where she is. I doubt anything is wrong, but I don't like going this long without seeing her.

"No." His mouth turns down slightly at the corners. "Not since the meeting this morning." He looks around surreptitiously, obviously uncertain how much he wants to discuss that subject publicly, given the rule against it. The thought makes me roll my eyes, but at the same time, there's no point in pressing our luck. There are too many people around who might hear us.

So, we instead stick to meaningless topics as we eat. It starts as the polite Abnegation conversation we both learned in our childhoods, but gradually it expands beyond that. When I make the mistake of asking what Caleb is reading, he launches into a lengthy commentary about Aquaponics – some method the Erudite developed to help grow food faster.

As dinnertime begins to wind down, I realize that wherever Tris is, she's going to miss the evening meal. Caleb apparently notices, too, and we find ourselves frowning as we stare around the cafeteria.

"I think I should take some food back to my room," I finally conclude, "so Tris can get something to eat later."

Caleb hesitates, his gaze level on me. "Are you sleeping with my sister?" he asks abruptly.

The question makes me choke on the bread I'm nibbling. Through my coughing, I manage to sputter, "Of course not!" Lowering my voice to a whisper, I add, "We both grew up in the same faction you did, you know. We're not…." I shake my head. "We're taking things slowly."

The answer seems to appease him, and he nods a little before saying, "All right, let's get some food for her."

The kitchen staff are kind enough to give us a large hunk of cheese, a few butter knives, and a half-loaf of bread. It will make a good dinner for my girlfriend, and I grin at Caleb as we head back to my room with it. By now, I'm feeling the relaxation that I'm coming to associate with a good Amity meal, and I don't mind that Caleb walks with me, continuing to talk rather indiscreetly about Tris.

"I mean, I would understand if you were sleeping together," he says, "since you're both Dauntless now, and that's the type of thing the Dauntless do." He pauses to think. "I've never quite understood why that counts as bravery, unless you consider the risk of disease or an unwanted pregnancy."

Suddenly, his eyes light up with understanding, and he smacks my arm good-naturedly. "Oh, maybe it's because if you sleep with the wrong person, their family or spouse or whoever would beat you up."

A snort of laughter escapes me. "I won't tell you how many times I saw something like that happen," I admit, and he smiles proudly in response. The Erudite in him obviously loves being right.

"Just how did you meet Beatrice?" he asks once we're finally in the privacy of my room.

Setting the cheese and bread down on my dresser, I turn to face him. "I was one of the initiate instructors – the one who trained the transfers."

That makes him frown. "So…you were her commander? Wasn't that kind of…taking advantage of her?"

The question puts a definite damper on my good mood, and I glare at him in response. "I don't know what you think is going on between Tris and me, but I'm definitely not messing around here. We're together because it's what we _both_ want. I care about her a great deal."

He considers that for a moment. "Still seems like it would have been against the rules," he finally mutters.

I sigh. "The Dauntless aren't big on rules. But…yeah, we had to be careful."

"Why did you take the chance?" His expression is more curious than anything, though I know he's also being a protective big brother. It's a bit ironic, given how much Tris has protected him in the last few days.

It's also a difficult question to answer, and I stare at the floor for a while before I come up with words. "I wasn't going to. I kept telling myself to wait until after initiation, but…." I scrub a hand through my short hair. "She's brave, and she's smart, and she was dealing with so many of the same issues I was after I transferred. And we just kept getting closer."

A smile touches my face as I remember pulling her from the net, with her eyes blazing with energy, and our staring contest in the dining hall, and the fierce way she stood up to Peter and Eric. She was irresistible to me from the beginning.

"She kept challenging me, but in a good way. Getting me to think differently and try new things. And I just… _liked_ her. A lot."

"I followed her up the Ferris wheel during capture the flag," I add, "despite being afraid of heights." It takes me a second to realize I just admitted one of my fears to someone I barely know. What has gotten into me lately?

Hastily, I attempt to cover it up. "And she let me throw knives at her to get a friend out of trouble."

That clearly startles Caleb. "What?" he demands, his eyes wide.

"That one's a little hard to explain." I scratch the back of my neck. "We teach knife-throwing as part of the training curriculum, and one of the Dauntless leaders was overseeing it. He's a rotten human being anyway, and he was in a lousy mood because Tris beat him at capture the flag, and he took it out on one of the initiates. He insisted I throw knives at him and said that he'd be kicked out if he flinched."

The side of my mouth quirks a bit. "Tris volunteered to take his place, and there was no way I could back out or Eric would have thrown them instead, and his aim isn't nearly as good as mine." I shrug. "So, I threw them at Tris, and she didn't flinch at all. Not once. Not even when I nicked her ear."

Caleb's brows furrow at the last part, but I ignore that. "She's the bravest person I've ever met."

Slowly, he nods. "I guess I can see that. I mean, I didn't when we were growing up – I could just tell that she never quite fit into Abnegation. But after everything she did to stop the simulation…she really does seem to belong in Dauntless."

It's not entirely true, since Tris is as selfless and as smart as she is brave, but I don't comment on that. By now, her brother must know that she's Divergent, but it's still a deep instinct not to mention that fact.

So, instead I watch him as he focuses on the window and the ebbing light outside. He looks profoundly thoughtful. "She was shot, and then she almost drowned in a water tank, and then she had to watch our mother die, and somehow she was still strong enough to lead us into Dauntless to stop the simulation." He shakes his head. "It's pretty amazing, actually."

I certainly agree, but my attention is caught on one part of what he said. "A water tank?"

"Oh. Um. Yeah." He looks unexpectedly nervous, like he shouldn't have revealed that. "Apparently, Jeanine had a water tank built especially for her, to see how she'd handle facing one of her fears in real life."

The words send a chill through my entire body. It's beyond sick that Jeanine went to those lengths to terrorize someone she was planning to kill, but it gets even worse the longer I think about it. The tank was in the simulation that I deleted in order to hide Tris' Divergence, so the only way Jeanine should have been able to see that particular fear was in Tris' final exam. But the attack was just hours after that. There's no way she could have built a tank to use for that purpose in such a short time, even if she was already watching Tris.

 _She must have seen my deleted footage._ There's no other possible explanation. The realization sends my mind scrambling, wondering who else she learned about that way. It doesn't matter for me or Tris at this point, since our Divergence has already been exposed, but what about Uriah? Or any of the others that Amar and I hid? How much danger are they in now?

It's an unsettling train of thought, and I find myself sagging against the wall, sliding down to a sitting position as it all sinks in. I thought I knew the extent of what Erudite was planning, but clearly I've barely touched the surface. And by the same token, I obviously don't even know everything that Tris has been through. Why didn't she tell me about the water tank? Does she think that I lied about deleting that simulation? Does she not trust me?

Maybe she's right to have doubts. I almost killed her in the control room, after all.

I'm thoroughly lost in thought when Caleb clears his throat. "You seriously threw knives at her?" he asks hesitantly.

Oddly, the question makes me chuckle. That part of the conversation seems so long ago, given the revelations of the last few minutes. A throwback to a simpler time.

"I have excellent aim," I reassure him, trying to clear the darker images from my mind. There's no point in dwelling on them right now, particularly not with Caleb here. I don't know him well enough to discuss this type of issue with him.

So, I take a deep breath, letting the calmness settle in place again. Smiling a little, I add, "Plus, I knew she was brave enough to hold still, and she's small, so it was easy to miss her."

He nods, pursing his lips together. The Erudite in him slips through when he asks, "Just how do you throw knives, anyway? I mean, every knife would be different, right, so how do you aim consistently?"

My shoulders lift, but then an idea occurs to me. "Hand me the butter knives," I tell him, "and I'll show you how it works."

He hesitates only briefly before doing as I asked, and I weigh the first knife in my hand for a moment, feeling its balance point. It's certainly not a great weapon, but it can be thrown, as any knife can be. I demonstrate by launching it toward the cheese that's still on my dresser. Since it's my first try with this particular blade, I don't expect it to hit, but it does, imbedding itself firmly as its handle quivers in place.

Caleb gawks at me. "Whoa…. That was cool."

The comment makes me grin, and I proceed to spend the next ten minutes attempting to teach him how to emulate my throw. He proves to be awful at it, and eventually I resume my sitting position while letting him toss the butter knives uselessly around the room.

"No, not like _that_ ," I manage to eke out through my laughter after his latest try goes wildly off course, hitting the curtains.

"What do you mean, 'not like that'?" he objects. "I imitated you perfectly." I can't help rolling my eyes at the arrogant snot.

"You did not."

"Well, do it again, then," he insists, handing me the other knife.

Shrugging, I launch it expertly across the room without even bothering to stand first. It digs deeply into the cheese the way all my other tosses did, the handle vibrating for a moment afterwards.

Beside me, I realize that the door is now open, and Tris is standing in it. Caleb immediately looks at his sister. "Tell me he's some kind of Dauntless prodigy," he complains. "Can you do this too?"

She looks amused. "With my right hand, maybe. But yes, _Four_ is some kind of Dauntless prodigy." Her eyes catch mine as she says my faction name, and I smile at her reference. "Can I ask _why_ you're throwing knives at cheese?"

I lean further back into the wall, looking up at my girlfriend. She seems taller from this angle. "Caleb came by to discuss something," I answer, "and knife-throwing just came up somehow."

"As it so often does," she comments wryly. Her eyes stay on me, evaluating me in a way that makes it impossible not to stare back. She looks _good_.

Apparently, Caleb doesn't care for our exchange, because he clears his throat. "Anyway," he starts a bit nervously as he looks between us, "I should be getting back to my room. I'm reading this book about the water-filtration systems. The kid who gave it to me looked at me like I was crazy for wanting to read it, but it's fascinating." His face is lit up with the excitement of learning, but then it falls a little. "Sorry. You probably think I'm crazy too."

"Not at all," I answer, deadpan. "Maybe _you_ should read that repair manual too, Tris. It sounds like something you might like."

Caleb obviously has no idea that I'm joking, because he offers, "I can loan it to you." His voice is enthusiastic.

Tris bites back whatever response she was thinking in favor of muttering, "Maybe later." It's hard to say if her brother buys it or not, but he nods before heading out, closing the door behind him.

As soon as he's gone, Tris turns back to me, shooting me a dirty look that makes me smirk. "Thanks for that," she says in an exaggerated tone. "Now he's going to talk my ear off about water filtration and how it works. Though I guess I might prefer that to what he wants to talk to me about."

That arouses my curiosity. "Oh? And what's that? Aquaponics?"

Her eyebrows furrow. "Aqua-what?"

"It's one of the ways they grow food here." I chuckle, remembering Caleb's enthrallment with the subject at dinner. "You don't want to know."

"You're right," she agrees. "I don't." She cocks her head in thought. "What did he come to talk to you about?"

"You," I tell her simply. "I think it was the big-brother talk. 'Don't mess around with my sister' and all that." At least, I think that's where he meant the conversation to go, if we hadn't gotten side-tracked with water tanks and knife-throwing.

Climbing to my feet, I step over to Tris. It's been entirely too long since we were close.

"What did you tell him?" she asks curiously.

"I told him how we got together – that's how knife-throwing came up." I'm right by her now. "And I told him I wasn't messing around."

My hands wrap around her hips, and I lean her gently against the door as my lips find hers. For a long moment, nothing exists except the push and pull of our bodies moving in perfect synch. Her arm holds me tightly as her fingers slide beneath the hem of my T-shirt, splaying across my lower back.

The sensation is amazing, and I kiss her more deeply, more insistently, as I squeeze her waist, wanting to pull that particular part of her body against me.

But neither of us is ready for that, and I know it. So, I reluctantly pull back just far enough to speak. "This isn't what you came here for."

"No."

"What did you come for, then?"

Her voice is breathy as she answers. "Who cares?" Her fingers work through my hair as she pulls me to her again. It's so easy to lose myself in her scent, and her lips, and her warmth, and for a long moment, I don't fight the desire. It's not until other parts of me begin to respond too strongly that I realize I need to stop this for now.

"Tris," I mumble against her skin.

She sighs. "Okay, okay." Taking my hand, she leads me to my bed, and we sit side by side. For a few more seconds, she fidgets, obviously not quite certain how to start whatever it is she wants to say.

"I followed Marcus earlier this evening," she finally begins. I can't help stiffening in response, the way I always do at the thought of my father, but I keep listening. "He was talking to Johanna in the orchard, and I thought it would be…better…to know what they were saying, so I hid and listened to them."

It's a surprising revelation from someone who grew up in Abnegation, but then again, Tris has always been more than just that faction.

"Johanna was asking about the timing of the simulation attack. She wanted to know if there was an inciting incident." Part of me is annoyed with the hypocrisy of the question – of Amity's representative discussing the attack after the faction decided that wasn't allowed. But I suppose it shouldn't surprise me that no one can follow such an absurd rule.

"At first, Marcus didn't answer, but Johanna must have been able to tell he was hiding something, because she pushed him to tell her." I can feel my mouth puckering in response as I wonder what was going through my father's head at that moment. He undoubtedly loved having Johanna think he knew something important, and having her beg him to divulge it.

Tris' expression is more intent now. "Eventually, he revealed that the Abnegation were entrusted with some information a long time ago and that Jeanine attacked in order to steal it. He wouldn't give any details, because he thought that Jeanine would destroy the information if he did, but he said that it was extremely important."

She hesitates, staring fixedly at her hands, as she adds, "He said that most of the city's leaders risked their lives to protect this information. That they died for it."

Something deflates inside me as I realize how much Tris has been sucked into my father's story. Her parents both died in the attack, and she desperately wants there to be meaning behind those deaths. She wants them to have died for something else, not just to save her. That would reduce the guilt she feels.

Her voice is tentative as she concludes with, "Well, what do you think?"

My response is slow and careful. I can't leave her believing what my father said – it's a false hope that won't help her in the long run – but I don't want to add to the burden of her parents' loss, either.

Finally, I tell her, "I think that it's Marcus trying to feel more important than he is."

Her brows furrow uncertainly. "So…what? You think he's just talking nonsense?"

"I think there probably is some information the Abnegation knew that Jeanine wanted to know," I admit, "but I think he's exaggerating its importance. Trying to build up his own ego by making Johanna think he's got something she wants and he won't give it to her."

She frowns. "I don't…. I don't think you're right. He didn't sound like he was lying."

That, right there, is the crux of the problem I've always had explaining my father to others. He is far too convincing. "You don't know him like I do. He is an excellent liar."

She thinks about that for several seconds before muttering, "Maybe you're right." It gives me hope that she can see through him. "But shouldn't we find out what's going on? Just to be sure?"

It's difficult not to sigh, but impatience on my part certainly won't help her. She needs to be refocused without adding to the guilt she's already feeling. So, again, I'm careful in my wording. "I think it's more important that we deal with the situation at hand. Go back to the city. Find out what's going on there. Find a way to take Erudite down. Then maybe we can find out what Marcus was talking about, after this is all resolved. Okay?"

She nods a little, though it's clear from her expression that she isn't fully convinced. I give her some time to digest her thoughts, and eventually she seems more certain.

"Okay," she murmurs. It's nice to see the agreement. Tris and I can both be stubborn, and I know there are things she hasn't revealed yet about the last few days, but at least for now, we're able to talk openly about what we're facing. It gives me hope that we can make it through the long road ahead. It gives me hope that we'll be all right.

__

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll be updating my "Waiting" story soon, but after that it will probably be a week or so before I get anything else posted. Sorry about the delay; real life is just very busy right now! In the meantime, please take a moment to review this chapter. Your support always motivates me to find time to write. :-)


	38. Insurgent Chapter 4 – Conflict Resolution

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who has taken the time to review, favorite, and/or follow this story! Your support means a lot to me and always inspires me to write more. Thank you also to my wonderful beta reader, Rosalie!

**"** **Insurgent" Chapter 4 – Conflict Resolution**

I wake up early but still barely take the time to get dressed before heading to the kitchen. Per our agreement with the Amity, I have to work the breakfast shift there today. It seemed like one of the easier duties to undertake, since I spent plenty of time cooking and cleaning while growing up in Abnegation. And honestly, I'm a little curious to see how this faction's food is made, given how satisfying every meal here is.

My mood darkens considerably when I see who else is there: a handful of others from my first faction, including my father.

He gives me that small, false smile that he always manages when we're in public, and it sends a twist of nausea through my insides. I scowl back before turning toward the person who seems to be in charge. She's a short woman with dark skin and even darker hair, her white teeth forming a blinding contrast as she beams at all of us.

"Good morning," she states in far too chipper a tone. "My name is Melanie, and I'm going to be guiding you through the joyful process of helping to feed this faction." The cheeriness is too much for this early in the day, and I try to suppress my groan. Fortunately, I'm not the only one; even Marcus is barely keeping the frown off his face.

"First, we'll need to divide into small groups so that we can do all of the important work this kitchen needs." She looks around. "Who would like to make bread?"

Several people immediately volunteer, and she continues to the other duties one by one. It's a slow process, and it doesn't help that I'm hesitant to pick anything, wanting my father to select an activity first so I can avoid him. But he doesn't, and I find myself gritting my teeth more and more the longer I wait. I have a bad feeling that he's going to try to follow me into whatever I choose so he can force me to talk with him.

Eventually, Melanie says, "I need two people to get things on and off the high shelves. Who is willing to do that?"

Cold fury goes through me when Marcus responds. "My son and I can do that. Right, Tobias?" His tone leaves no room for refusal, but I cross my arms, glaring at him anyway.

"I'd rather do something else."

"Come now, Tobias." His tone has a far-too-familiar edge to it. "We're the tallest people here. Surely we can help where we're needed most?"

"Surely you can learn to speak for only yourself," I growl back, "and leave me out of it."

The others stare for several long seconds before Melanie intervenes. "Everyone should pick a job that they are comfortable with." Her voice is soft and lilting, and for a moment I think she's on my side. "But your height would definitely be an advantage, so it would be very _kind_ of you to undertake this task, Tobias."

"It's Four," I snap back, more than a little aggravated that my father has essentially forced me into this. "That's my name."

My response doesn't go over well, causing everyone in the room to stand stiffly, looking at me – or away from me, in some cases – uncomfortably. Johanna's words pass through my mind again, and I know that my current attitude won't count as cooperating. With a long sigh, I mutter, "Fine. I'll do it."

Fortunately, my father and I are separated most of the time, each being asked to help in different parts of the room at any given time. But he still takes every possible opportunity to try to start a conversation.

"I was surprised to see that you are dating Beatrice Prior," he begins when we're briefly stuck near each other. Every nerve in my body goes on full alert.

Before I can stop myself, I growl, "Stay away from her." It's stupid to say anything, since it just gives him ammunition to use against me, but it's impossible not to do it anyway. I can't stand the thought of him being anywhere near her ever again.

"Relax, Tobias," he tells me softly, sounding reassuring to anyone who doesn't know better. "I merely meant that you both seem to have some Abnegation in you after all. Perhaps you were wrong to transfer."

"If we hadn't transferred, you'd be dead now," I snap back angrily. It's better than admitting _why_ I left around other people. But when he raises a knowing eyebrow, I can't resist adding, "Besides, I like the _company_ better there."

"Which part of it, exactly?" His tone is almost a whisper now, making sure he's not overheard. "The ones who were _weak_ enough to be mind-controlled, or the ones who sought to _murder_ their fellow citizens?"

It's not as if I love everything about Dauntless, but it's infuriating to have him hold himself above Zeke and Shauna and people like them in such an insulting way. For a long few seconds, I stare at him with my hands clenched into fists, debating how much trouble I'd actually be in if I decked him. It's probably a good thing that I'm called away to another task.

But he doesn't have the sense to leave me alone, and by the time I've spent two hours moving in and out of his speaking range, my fuse is _extremely_ short.

It's unfortunate that the Amity notice.

"It is very unhealthy to hold onto so much anger," Melanie tells me soothingly as she places a gentle hand on my arm. She seems surprised when I shake it off as if it's a dangerous animal. "I think that you and Marcus need to spend a few minutes talking, to get past your differences and learn to work together."

"That is _not_ going to happen," I snarl at her, trying to turn back to my current task of hauling a large bag of flour from its storage spot to the baking group.

"I would be happy to mediate," Melanie offers, undeterred by my flat refusal.

"Which part of NO do you not understand?" The words clearly take her aback, and I feel a small twinge of guilt. It's not her fault that my father is a monster.

"You are spreading negativity," she tries, reaching out to touch my arm again. When I shy away, she sighs. "I cannot have you working here with that attitude, and if you do not participate in this faction, then you violate the agreement that allows you to stay here."

At this moment, I miss my second faction badly. It would be so nice to be able to deal with this overly-cheery idiot the Dauntless way. But instead, I take several deep breaths, doing my best to calm down. It's obvious that we won't be able to stay in Amity for long, but I can't be the one who gets us kicked out. I won't do that to Tris.

"Look," I say in as reasonable a tone as I can manage, "I'm doing my best here, but I can't be around _him_."

She purses her lips. "That is exactly why you need to talk to him." She makes it sound like it's the most obvious thing in the world, and I wrack my brain for an argument that she might be willing to hear.

"I can't deal with him on an empty stomach," I finally mutter. It's a bizarre excuse, but I've noticed that the Amity seem to equate meals with peace, presumably because they spend the entire time talking to each other. Perhaps I can play off that.

And it seems to work. Her face lights up a little, and she murmurs, "Ah, no wonder. One can never make good decisions when one is hungry."

She tries yet again to rest a comforting hand on my arm, and this time I grit my teeth and put up with the gesture. Hopefully, it will show that I'm cooperating. She smiles in response.

"You have done enough work for now," she reassures me. "Please go and have breakfast. I'm sure it will be easier to talk after that."

I have to draw on my entire experience from Abnegation to give her a polite smile and to say a few words of thanks before leaving. My body language is stiff, I'm sure, as I make my way out of the kitchen and into the cafeteria, but at least no one stops me from going.

The cafeteria is full, but less so than usual since it's nearing the end of the mealtime. Fortunately, though, Tris is there, sitting near the windows with a couple of Abnegation across from her and another group of them at the other end of the table. After everything that's happened in the last two hours, it's good to see her.

My expression must still be radiating annoyance, however, because she furrows her eyebrows when she sees me. "What happened?" she asks as I drop into the seat to her right.

Across from her, an Abnegation man gives me a quizzical look. It takes me a second to realize that it's her brother, Caleb. Since I last saw him, he's cut his hair short and has abandoned the glasses that he was wearing.

"In their enthusiasm for conflict resolution," I answer my girlfriend, "the Amity have apparently forgotten that meddling creates _more_ conflict. If we stay here much longer, I am going to punch someone, and it's not going to be pretty."

Across from me, Tris' friend, Susan, raises her eyebrows, and a few of the Amity at a nearby table stop talking and stare at me.

"You heard me," I snap at them, feeling satisfied when they quickly look away.

It seems to amuse Tris. Covering her mouth to hide her smile, she repeats, "As I said, what happened?"

But I'm not willing to reveal this here, with Susan watching me the way the Abnegation always do – with the absolute assurance that Marcus is perfect and that _I'm_ a loose cannon. "I'll tell you later," I mutter.

Tris looks as if she wants to question me further, but she seems to think better of it, glancing at the other Abnegation down the table before nodding silently to me.

Gratefully, I reach for her fingers under the table, but I freeze before I get there, abruptly aware of _his_ presence approaching us. He stands behind Tris and sets his hand on her right shoulder almost possessively, as if claiming her back into his faction. It sends a shiver through me, particularly given our recent conversation.

It has a somewhat stronger effect on Tris, causing an unmistakable look of pain to cross her face. It's an instant reminder of what she's been through.

"She got shot in that shoulder," I snap.

Marcus' eyes narrow, and I know he's angry that he was caught displaying thoughtlessness. "My apologies," he states coldly. Lifting his hand, he sits carefully by Tris' other side. "Hello."

"What do _you_ want?" Tris asks fiercely.

"Beatrice," Susan corrects her immediately, "there's no need to –"

But whatever she was about to add is lost when Caleb speaks. "Susan, please." His voice is soft, but it stops her, and she looks away as she presses her lips together tightly. It's reassuring that Caleb, at least, now believes me over my father.

Tris frowns at Marcus. "I asked you a question."

"I would like to discuss something with you," he replies, doing his best to sound reasonable. A lifetime of reading him makes the anger in his tone obvious to me, but I'm sure the rest of the table misses it. "The other Abnegation and myself have discussed it and decided that we should not stay here. We believe that, given the inevitability of further conflict in our city, it would be selfish of us to stay here while what remains of our faction is inside that fence. We would like to request that you escort us."

I grit my teeth, knowing that he came to Tris with this idea rather than me, just to show that he's not afraid of me. That he's ignoring my earlier warning to stay away from her. And I can't even really argue, because we're not the only ones affected. The rest of my former faction is still in danger, and they need us to help them.

For a few seconds, Tris watches him, debating, and I decide to wait for her response. She's the one who stopped the simulation, after all – she deserves to make this decision.

Eventually, though, she turns her focus to me. "What do you think?" she asks softly.

There's no way to feel good about the answer that I need to give, and I stare at the table as I try to summon the courage for it. "I think we should leave the day after tomorrow." I do my best to keep my voice firm and even, but truthfully everything inside me is shaking at the prospect of spending even more time with my father, and with a group of people who have always followed him unquestioningly. The concept brings up too many horrible memories.

"Okay," Marcus states. "Thank you." To my relief, he gets up then, moving to the other end of the table to join the rest of the Abnegation. Tris inches closer to me, grabbing my hand under the table, and I squeeze it hard. I _hate_ that she just saw me looking weak, but I love that she's here for me despite it.

* * *

As I finish eating, Tris tells me that she's going for a walk, giving me a quick kiss and heading out before I have a chance to join her. Clearly, she wants to be alone for a bit. The slight rebuff stings, but I know that she's still grieving for her parents, and she probably doesn't want anyone to see that process.

So, I force myself to stay seated, killing off the last bit of my food while my eyes roam around the cafeteria, ignoring Caleb and Susan as they sit a little too close together and murmur to each other.

It's strange to think that if Uriah had chosen differently, following his second aptitude, he'd be sitting here with me. Instead, he and Zeke are both in the middle of who knows what, if they're even still alive. It's a disturbing train of thought.

It also seems to lead my gaze to the only other Dauntless in the room: Peter. He's barely recognizable in a yellow shirt, his arm in a sling and his face looking worn as he slouches over his plate. It strikes me that he's sitting by himself at the most remote table available. Clearly, he wants nothing to do with the Amity despite trying to dress the part.

For a long moment, I watch him, debating, and then I get up and make my way over to him. I need to start planning for when we leave here, and that means that I need to decide whether or not to bring him with us. Besides, he's the only source of information currently available on what Erudite will do next.

He gives me an inscrutable look when I take the seat next to him. "What's the matter, Four? Miss your faction so much you're willing to talk to even me?" It's closer to the truth than I want to admit, but I just make a skeptical, huffing sound. It doesn't faze him at all.

"I'm surprised you're still here," I tell him, cocking my head a little as I evaluate him. "I expected you to have run back to your buddies by now."

He lifts a shoulder a bit too casually. "They're not my buddies." His gaze meets mine with the same false innocence that my father always maintained, and it instinctively makes me think that he's lying. Of course, I'm always inclined to think that with him anyway, ever since he attacked Tris.

Glancing around to make sure we're not overheard, I mutter, "Well, then, if Eric and the other _traitors_ weren't your friends, why did you help them?"

He has the grace to look slightly uncomfortable. "It was either that or be mind-controlled," he admits reluctantly, "and _no one_ gets inside my head that way." It's an interesting statement from someone who grew up in Candor and then spent weeks inside simulations – with me and eventually the Dauntless leaders watching him.

"Really." I raise a doubtful eyebrow. "And what exactly did they tell you that won you over?"

He opens his mouth to respond, _this_ close to giving me the information I need, but then I see comprehension glint behind his eyes as he figures out why I'm asking. He smirks instead, clearly enjoying the sense of having power over me.

"If you want me to tell you what I know about their plans, Four, just ask." His tone makes it obvious that he won't answer me no matter how I ask, but there's nowhere else to get information right now, and I have to at least try.

"Fine," I spit. "What do you know about their plans?"

He cocks his head, pursing his lips with some type of sick amusement. "Please?" he mocks.

I lean very close to him, infusing my entire body with my most intimidating instructor presence. "Listen, you little turd. I don't know how you think all of this is going to play out, but you're in as much danger as we are. And we're your best shot at getting out of it. So, I _suggest_ you start cooperating."

He just stares back, showing no sign of fear – or any other emotion. After a moment, he shrugs. "Sorry, but I don't know anything."

He's probably lying, and it's more than a little tempting to wring his rotten neck until he talks. But that wouldn't exactly be a good thing to do around the Amity. So, instead, I remember the words that Amar drilled into us during my initiation: a wise person knows when to give up. There's clearly nothing to be gained from Peter under these circumstances.

"Your choice," I tell him as I rise. "But don't expect any favors from us."

I don't bother to look back as I leave the cafeteria, but I do make a decision. Unless he changes his attitude in a big way very soon, he won't be leaving this faction with us.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please take a moment to let me know what you thought of this chapter. Reviews motivate me more than anything else, and I could use some motivation right now, since I seem to be coming down with something... :-(


	39. Insurgent Chapter 5 – Priors

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who has taken the time to review, favorite, and/or follow this story! Your support means a great deal to me. Thank you also to my wonderful beta reader, Rosalie!

**"** **Insurgent" Chapter 5 – Priors**

If Tris eats lunch, she must do it early, because she's not there by the time I arrive, and she doesn't show up afterwards. It bothers me that she might be going hungry, particularly when she'll need her full strength for whatever we'll have to face after we leave Amity. It's also frustrating to realize that a large part of the problem may be the other Abnegation – their presence undoubtedly reminds her of the parents she's grieving, yet we'll be stuck with them for a while at this rate.

Caleb doesn't particularly help, sitting across from me with his Abnegation haircut and whispering questions about my strategy for keeping the others safe once we reenter the city. His queries are effective in spurring me to think, but I don't know how much to trust him, so I don't give him a lot of answers.

Despite everything, though, I find myself feeling better as the meal progresses. I may never find out what makes the food here so satisfying, but I'm going to miss the effect when we leave.

Caleb follows me to my room, undoubtedly wanting to continue our discussion, and I don't try to stop him. I'm feeling vaguely sleepy now, with my stomach comfortably full, and I could use his energy to help me stay awake. There's still a lot of planning to do.

"Don't you think the paint here glows?" he asks me abruptly, staring at a wall in fascination. "Everything in Abnegation was dull and gray, and Erudite is all blue and white and sterile, but that yellow is just so _pretty_." He smiles. "It's like a little piece of sunshine."

For a moment, I simply watch him, realizing that he sounds like the Amity always do – bright and cheery to the point of being insipid. It's an odd effect from _Caleb_.

Odd enough to make me chuckle. "What?" he says, turning his wide eyes on me. "You have to admit they're the prettiest faction."

"True," I acknowledge. It's not like there's a lot of competition from Dauntless' dull, dirty black tones or Candor's stark contrasts. "They have good food, too."

He giggles. "They really _do_ , don't they? I swear that bread is addictive, it's so tasty."

"Can't argue with that." Not that I had as much of it today – only one sandwich, since I filled up on the fresh fruit they were offering.

"It's hard to think here, though," Caleb adds as I open the door to my room, motioning him in before closing the door behind us. "I don't know why, but I'm just so _scattered_ here. Like my thoughts bounce from one thing to another." He stops to look at the reflection shining off the windowsill, and I realize that he's proving his point rather effectively.

"I think you're right," I mutter. "I keep trying to plan for when we leave, but I can never get very far. It's like there's something in the air."

"Yeah…." He cocks his head, looking at the pattern on the curtains. "Beatrice doesn't seem to have a problem, though. It must be because she's Divergent."

The bald way he states that fact bothers me, but I don't respond. I doubt very much that he would have said it to anyone else, and he already knows that I know.

"It's strange," he continues, not seeming to notice my discomfort. "Growing up, she was always the one who didn't fit in, but it turns out that she actually has more aptitude for Abnegation than I do. How can that be?"

He shakes his head, not bothering to wait for an answer. "And on top of that, she's Dauntless. _And_ now she seems to be better at Erudite than I am. It just doesn't seem possible to be _all_ of those things at once."

It's the first time I've heard a confirmation of what aptitudes Tris has, though I can't say that the list surprises me. She's always been smart and brave and selfless. What's actually weirder is that Caleb _isn't_ more of those things, when they have the same parents.

I watch him for a moment as an unexpected thought forms in my head. "Who administered your aptitude test?" I find myself asking.

"Elena," he answers immediately. "From Erudite. Why?"

This time, it's my turn to shake my head, unwilling to quite put what I'm thinking into words. I know for a fact that it's possible for an administrator to influence the results of an aptitude test. Amar told me that he did that once with a kid he knew from Amity – to keep her from showing up as Divergent. With the Erudite trying so hard to get everyone from Abnegation to defect, maybe Elena nudged Caleb into getting the result he did? Maybe he's really Divergent, too?

But if so, there's no way to find out right now, and it may be better not to plant that idea into Caleb's mind. Being Divergent is more dangerous than ever these days, and I don't know how good he is at keeping his mouth shut. So, I change the subject, letting Caleb's currently-flighty attention take us in a different direction. He doesn't seem to notice.

* * *

I do eventually get some planning done, once my post-lunch sleepiness abates and Caleb leaves. I never knew him in Abnegation, so I don't have a comparison point for his behavior, but this can't possibly be normal for him or he never would have considered Erudite. It does make me wonder what is affecting him here.

Or maybe affecting both of us – since Caleb is right. It _is_ difficult to think clearly in this faction.

Still, I chug through much of the work that needs to be done before we leave, figuring out what supplies to request and laying out pros and cons on where to go. My first choice would be Dauntless, in order to check on my friends and to acquire allies, but there's no way of knowing which side is in charge there right now. I'm not going to risk Tris' life on that gamble.

Briefly, I consider going to the factionless to see what they know. The Abnegation have been their biggest advocates for years, so I imagine they'll have some loyalty to the people I'll be escorting. Plus, they hear everything that happens in the city.

Ultimately, though, I turn that idea down because of who's in charge of them. It's not even so much that I don't want to see my mother, though that's certainly a factor – it's also that I can't exactly march Marcus into factionless headquarters to meet with Evelyn. There is no possible way that would go over well.

So, I end up deciding that Candor is our best bet. With their focus on honesty, they're likely to side with the innocent victims of the attack, rather than those who mind-controlled others to start a war. And given how many sixteen-year-olds transfer to Dauntless every year, the Candor must have some inherent bravery. Hopefully, it's enough to get them to help us more than the Amity have.

As a precaution, though, I'll run the idea by Tris when I get a chance. As Caleb pointed out, her thinking seems to be as clear as ever these days. That's more than I can say for myself.

But I don't get the chance at dinner, with so many other people within hearing distance. I resolve to talk to her afterwards, in one of our rooms, but by the time the meal is over, my concentration seems to have waned again.

So, instead I end up going for a walk with her and Caleb and Susan. The latter two clearly want to spend time together, but with all the Abnegation rules on dating, they appear unwilling to do so without chaperones. Tris doesn't seem to be thrilled about playing that role, but she doesn't complain, either, and I go simply to be near her.

It's a pleasant evening, even if it's still too warm, and I find it easy to collapse in my bed and fall asleep afterwards, completely forgetting that I wanted to discuss anything more serious….

* * *

My door creaks open in the middle of the night, and I stare, concerned, at the figure standing in it. It only takes a second for me to recognize Tris.

"C'mere," I mutter sluggishly, moving over to give her room on my bed.

She walks hesitantly through the room, the moonlight from the window reflecting off her bare legs, and my breath catches a little. She's wearing a long T-shirt that hangs just below her butt, but judging by the way it clings to her, she doesn't have shorts on underneath it.

It's difficult to focus by the time she lies down, facing me.

"Bad dream?" I ask her as gently as I can. She just nods. "What happened?"

This time, she shakes her head, still silent. I can't blame her – it was a stupid question, after all. Of course she's still having nightmares about her parents, and of course she doesn't want to talk about them.

My hand cups her cheek lightly, and I let my thumb rub soothing circles on her cheekbone. "We're all right, you know," I murmur. "You and me. Okay?" I want her to know that – to truly believe it – and I'm relieved when she nods. "Nothing else is all right, but we are."

"Tobias," she starts, before stopping. Perhaps there are no words for what she wants to voice, because she instead presses her lips to mine. Part of me isn't sure we should be doing this while she's still overwhelmed by grief and only came here for comfort. But she's warm, and she smells so good, and she's lying in my bed in nothing but a T-shirt, and sometimes it's hard to ignore the fact that I'm a teenage male.

So, I kiss her, my hand slowly making its way down her side, along the curve of her hip, and to the bare skin below that. She wraps a leg around mine, using it to pull herself closer to me, and any thoughts I had of stopping disappear. My lips take in her taste, and I inhale her scent, and I let my fingers slide under the hem of her T-shirt.

A sigh of pleasure escapes from her, egging me on even more. My palm is pressing against her lower back now, holding her closer to me, and then it's tracing up her spine, taking her shirt with it. A deep ache is starting to fill me, and my mouth seeks out her neck, kissing the soft skin as her own hand gathers my shirt, lifting it the way I'm lifting hers.

It all feels incredibly good.

My hand has reached the back of her neck now, with her shirt twisted around my arm, and I'm kissing her with a desperation and desire I've never felt before. She seems to feel it, too, judging by the way she's hanging onto me, returning my kisses with a passion that I feel through my entire being.

I'm pulling her shirt completely off her when my fingers brush the bandage on her shoulder, and I feel her wince. It's a small movement, but it's enough to bring us both back to reality. We're breathing hard as she leans away, pulling her shirt carefully back down into place.

Everything in me freezes when she abruptly starts crying. It takes me a moment to realize that it's not because of anything I did or because of what just happened. Realistically, _that_ probably came from her desire to escape the pain that she's feeling. If so, it's a good thing we stopped; I don't want our first time to be associated with grief.

"Sorry," she whispers through the tears.

"Don't apologize," I reassure her, wiping her cheeks lightly with one thumb while my other hand presses behind her shoulders, holding her comfortingly. I want so much to take her pain away.

"I don't mean to be such a mess," she says, her voice breaking. "I just feel so…." She shakes her head, unable to finish.

It strikes me hard that this is happening to _her_. Out of all the people who could have died in the attack, why did it have to be _her_ parents? She doesn't deserve this.

"It's wrong," I tell her firmly. "It doesn't matter if your parents are in a better place – they aren't here with you, and that's _wrong_ , Tris. It shouldn't have happened. It shouldn't have happened to _you_. And anyone who tells you it's okay is a liar."

A sob jolts through her body, and I wrap my arms around her, pulling her to me as tightly as I can. She presses her face against my chest, weeping in full force now. It's a sign of trust, in a way, for her to cry like this with me, and I don't miss that as I hold her, letting her get everything out of her system. There's nothing I can do to make this truly better, but I can at least be here for her, and hold her, and stroke her hair.

It takes a long time for the sobs to subside, but eventually she's quiet and still in my arms. "Sleep," I murmur soothingly. "I'll fight the bad dreams off if they come to get you."

It's a foolish promise, but it pulls a response from her. "With what?"

I say the only thing I can think of. "My bare hands, obviously."

Apparently, it's the right answer, because she wraps an arm around my waist and breathes deeply, letting herself drift off to sleep. I stay awake, feeling her slowly relax, as the full breadth of how I feel about her sinks through me.

"I love you, Tris," I whisper as the last vestiges of consciousness leave her. She's already asleep, so she doesn't answer, but that's all right. I didn't say it in hopes of a response. I said it because it's true.

__

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please take a moment to review this chapter! I'm going on vacation this week and will have very limited writing time, so I could definitely use some motivation to carve out what time I can. Otherwise, it will probably be two weeks before I can post again...


	40. Insurgent Chapter 6 – Peace Serum

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who reviewed the last chapter, and to my wonderful beta reader, Rosalie!

**"** **Insurgent" Chapter 6 – Peace Serum**

I wake up before Tris, watching her as my night's dreams slowly fade away. She looks peaceful now, her youth showing in a way that it rarely does when she's awake.

It's hard to remember my life before she entered it, even though that was barely a month ago. She has taken over my thoughts to a degree that would be disturbing if it weren't such an improvement.

My fingers stroke her hair very lightly, enjoying the softness. There's no way to deny how much I like having her in my bed. And it's not just because of what we almost did last night – as incredible as that felt, it was honestly just as nice to hold her afterwards. It's a closeness that I want to repeat as often as possible.

Eventually, though, more and more light begins filtering through the curtains, and I know that we have to get up and face the day. We need to finish our preparations if we're going to leave this faction tomorrow.

I let Tris sleep just a little longer as I slip out of bed, pulling my clothing on quietly before grabbing the electric razor. It's awkward to shave here, using just the small mirror over the dresser instead of the one that I had in my bathroom in Dauntless. It makes me wonder how the Abnegation manage without mirrors at all, particularly since they use straight razors. I was too young to shave when I lived there, so I never learned, but I can't imagine that it's easy.

Not surprisingly, it's Tris who draws me out of my thoughts. Out of the corner of my eyes, I see her moving, sitting up on the bed and hugging her knees to her.

"Good morning," I tell her over the buzz of the razor. "How did you sleep?"

"Okay." She climbs out of bed, stretching as I begin shaving my chin. I'm vaguely startled when she wraps her arms around me from behind, pressing her forehead against my back – right over where I know my Dauntless tattoo rests.

It's a pleasant way to start the day, and I turn off the razor, setting it down in favor of folding my hands over hers and holding her close. I could definitely get used to this.

"I should go get ready," she finally mutters, clearly as reluctant to leave as I am to let her go. But she's supposed to work a shift in the laundry rooms this morning, and we need to stay on the Amity's good side until tomorrow.

So, I sigh as I pull away. "I'll get you something to wear."

It's a quick trip to the stockroom, and I only spend a moment mulling over the clothing options. There's nothing here that's truly her size, so I ultimately decide to just collect a pair of shorts for her – ones that she can wear at night as readily as during the day. Maybe that will help her feel comfortable joining me in bed again….

Tris smiles as she takes them, thanking me quietly, and I turn my back like a considerate boyfriend while she puts them on. It's more tempting than it should be to peek.

I finish shaving once she heads back to her room, taking a moment afterwards to straighten up the space and make the bed. It's an old habit from my childhood that I never lost.

I'm halfway down the corridor toward breakfast when I hear a loud scream coming from the direction of Tris' room. My body launches itself there automatically, but then I freeze, uncertain what to make of the sight that greets me.

Peter is crouched down, agony written all over his face as he lunges at Tris, punching her in the stomach. My hands ball into instant fists, but she reacts before I can get there through the crowd that has already formed around them. With a cry of pure rage, she races at Peter, her elbow ready to strike.

One of the Amity stops her, grabbing her arms and hauling her away from Peter more roughly than I've ever seen from someone dressed in red.

For a second, there's stillness, with a woman crouching by Peter and murmuring soft words of comfort to him while Tris glares at him lividly. She's still struggling to reach him, and I know that whatever happened must have been bad.

And yet…it can't have been _that_ bad. We've only been apart for a few minutes. This may be more about past deeds than anything current.

"Tris, calm down," I tell her firmly as I try to push my way through the crowd toward her. It's important not to aggravate the Amity any more than she already has – at least until I know what happened.

"He has the hard drive!" she yells back, and I abruptly understand her anger. "He stole it from me! He has it!"

That stupid little prick…. He took the only record we have of what happened during the attack simulation – our only proof that the Erudite and Dauntless leaders conspired to attack Abnegation. And there's only one reason he would have done that. He wants to return it to Jeanine to get back into her good graces.

The thought is disgusting, and it ends any possibility that he'll be coming with us when we leave here.

I immediately change my direction, walking over to Peter and planting my foot on his ribs to keep him in place while I evaluate him. Fortunately, there's no need to question him, since it's obvious where the drive is – I can see the rectangular outline in his pants pocket. Leaning down, I pull it out smoothly, totally ignoring the protests from the Amity woman who is trying to help him while I place the drive into my own pocket.

For a moment longer, I focus on Peter, hardening my face into my most imposing Dauntless expression. "We won't be in a safe house forever," I remind him in a dangerously soft voice, "and this wasn't very smart of you."

"Not very smart of you, either," I tell Tris, rounding on her. She could have handled this a lot better. I was right down the hallway – all she had to do was yell for me, and I could have taken care of Peter far more quietly. "Do you want to get us kicked out?"

Her response is a fierce scowl, and I'm not surprised when the Amity man who is still holding her begins dragging her down the hallway.

"What do you think you're doing?" she demands. "Let go of me!"

The man's response is exactly what I knew was coming. "You violated the terms of our peace agreement. We must follow protocol." _Shit._ We're about to get thrown out of this faction a day before we're ready to leave.

My mind flits rapidly through possibilities as Tris opens her mouth to protest further, and abruptly I know that there's really only one choice here. We need to reassure them that what just happened was a fluke and that we'll cooperate. That could buy us the day we need.

So, I modulate my voice to the calm level that the Amity prefer as I tell Tris, "Just go. You need to cool down."

My words seem to satisfy the rest of the crowd, and I watch as they nod, murmuring to each other while they slowly disperse. Maybe it will be enough.

* * *

I'm in no mood for breakfast after that, so I opt to take a walk in the orchards instead, trying to let the exercise drive the anger out of my veins. If the Amity kick Tris out, will they make her leave today, or can we negotiate for her to stay through tomorrow?

And what will they do with Peter? There's no way I trust him to come with us now, but if the two of them are kicked out for the same fight, it will be difficult to keep him from following us – or at least from knowing where we're going.

It's already hot out, with the sunlight reflecting off all the greenery around me, and the heat does nothing to improve my attitude.

My thoughts are interrupted by a voice calling, "Four! Four! Where are you?"

It's impossible not to recognize the speaker, but she sounds off somehow. "Tris?" I answer uncertainly.

She _giggles_ in response, and I find myself ducking quickly under a branch to reach her side. Tris _never_ giggles.

Yet it's definitely her, and I watch in confusion as she runs toward me, her gait so unbalanced that she almost falls. I step forward, my hand catching her waist to keep her upright.

"What did they –" I start, but I don't get a chance to finish the sentence before her lips are on mine. Again, she feels off, and I pull away, needing to know what's happening.

"That was lame," she complains, not sounding remotely like herself. "Okay, no it wasn't, but…."

She stands on tiptoes, clearly preparing to kiss me again, but this time I stop her first, pressing a finger to her lips.

"Tris, what did they do to you? You're acting like a lunatic."

"That's not very nice of you," she tells me, _pouting_. "They put me in a good mood, that's all." Her voice is higher than normal, filled with inflections that make her sound like a typical member of this faction instead of like herself. It's more than a little disturbing.

"And now," she continues, wobbling a little on her feet, "I really want to kiss you, so if you could just _relax_ —"

"I'm not going to kiss you," I snap somewhat more harshly than I intended. "I'm going to figure out what's going on." I don't know what the Amity have done to make her like this, but I do _not_ like it when anyone messes with Tris.

She stares at me, pouting again as she tries to process my refusal. Then, she grins. " _That's_ why you like me!" Her voice is exuberant. "Because you're not very nice either! It makes so much more sense now."

There doesn't seem to be any point in answering her, so I just state, "Come on. We're going to see Johanna."

"I like you, too," she bubbles as she tries to skip off to the side, apparently having already forgotten where we're going.

"That's encouraging," I mutter, barely listening at this point as I try to get her flailing limbs and even more disconnected mind to follow me. "Come _on_." For another second, I glare at her in frustration. "Oh, for God's sake, I'll just carry you."

And I do, scooping her up into my arms the way I did after she was attacked by the Chasm. In a way, this feels like that night, even if she hasn't been harmed bodily the way she was then. It's a different sort of harm this time.

I make a beeline for Johanna's office, but I can't seem to get there fast enough, given the way Tris is acting. She giggles, leaning up to kiss my cheek and then kicking her feet slowly up and down like a child enjoying the feeling of the air on her bare feet.

Finally, I barge into the office where Johanna is sitting behind her desk, obviously catching up on a pile of paperwork. Her mouth drops open when she sees us, her eyes fixating slowly on Tris.

"You really shouldn't cover up your scar," my girlfriend gushes. "You look prettier with your hair out of your face."

Johanna's eyes jump back to mine, and I give her a cold look as I drop Tris on her feet, trying to ignore the way she laughs at something only she can see.

"What did you do to her?" I demand furiously. Johanna seems reluctant to answer, and I find myself asking again. "What in God's name did you do?"

"I…." Johanna stares at Tris, frowning, before giving me a somewhat apologetic look. "They must have given her too much. She's very small; they probably didn't take her height and weight into account."

It's difficult to keep my volume below a yell. "They must have given her too much of _what_?"

"You have a nice voice," Tris pipes up beside me.

The comment certainly doesn't help the situation, and I have to work even harder not to snap. "Tris, please be quiet."

"The peace serum," Johanna admits, her tone unusually detached for an Amity. "In small doses, it has a mild, calming effect and improves the mood. The only side effect is some slight dizziness. We administer it to members of our community who have trouble keeping the peace."

I can't help the snort of derision that comes out of me. This explains so much about how I've felt while we've been here, and about how Caleb has been acting.

"I'm not an idiot," I snarl. " _Every_ member of your community has trouble keeping the peace, because they're all human. You probably dump it into the water supply."

Johanna's silence is answer enough, and I glare at her as she folds her hands in front of her.

She sounds like she's forcing herself to be calm when she finally responds. "Clearly you know that is not the case, or this conflict would not have occurred." Reluctantly, I have to admit that there's some truth to that; Tris has been immune to whatever has been affecting me and Caleb, but she is certainly reacting to the serum they gave her today.

Johanna's gaze is level as she continues. "But whatever we agree to do here, we do together, as a faction. If I could give the serum to everyone in this city, I would. You would certainly not be in the situation you are in now if I had."

It's infuriating logic – exactly the same type that Jeanine used to justify putting all of Dauntless under a different serum. "Oh, definitely," I growl. "Drugging the entire population is the best solution to our problem. Great plan."

"Sarcasm is not kind, Four," Johanna responds gently, and I have to dig my fingernails into my palms to keep myself from slamming them down on her desk. "Now, I am sorry about the mistake in giving too much to Tris, I really am. But she violated the terms of our agreement, and I'm afraid that you might not be able to stay here much longer as a result. The conflict between her and the boy – Peter – is not something we can forget."

No, of course they can't forget _that_. They can take Tris' mind away from her with their serum, and they can pretend that there's no _war_ in the city, but they certainly can't tolerate Tris and Peter having a minor scuffle.

"Don't worry," I snarl, "we intend to leave as soon as humanly possible."

"Good," she answers, smiling a little as if she doesn't even begin to see how angry I am. "Peace between Amity and Dauntless can only happen when we maintain our distance from each other."

Seriously? Her biggest worry about the Dauntless right now is how _three_ of us affect her faction? Not what all the others are doing inside the city? Not how the Erudite are using "the brave" against the Abnegation and against those of us with the guts to stand up to them?

Shaking my head, I mutter, "That explains a lot."

I expect her to ignore the comment the way her faction has been turning a blind eye to so much else, but to my surprise, she doesn't. "Excuse me?" she says as if I've offended her. "What are you insinuating?"

I can't hold my opinion in any longer; it forces its way out between my gritted teeth. "It explains why, under a pretense of _neutrality_ – as if such a thing is _possible_ – you have left us to die at the hands of the Erudite."

Johanna sighs quietly, facing the window and gazing out at the small courtyard beyond it.

"The Amity wouldn't do something like that," Tris says unexpectedly. "That's _mean_."

The irony is that their own serum just proved my point. Maybe that unsettles Johanna, because her voice sounds strained when she responds.

"It is for the sake of peace that we remain uninvolved."

"Peace?" I spit. "Yes, I'm sure it will be very peaceful when we are all either dead, or cowering in submission under the threat of mind control, or stuck in an endless simulation."

Johanna's face contorts, and she sounds sad as she answers me. "The decision was not mine to make. If it was, perhaps we would be having a different conversation right now."

It's the closest I've come to breaking through her surface guards – to gaining an actual ally in this faction – and I press it. "Are you saying you disagree with them?"

"I am saying," she responds carefully, "that it isn't my place to disagree with my faction publicly, but I might, in the privacy of my own heart."

It's not enough to truly help us, but maybe it can buy us a little time – and do something for any others who might come here later. "Tris and I will be gone in two days," I tell her firmly. "I hope your faction doesn't change their decision to make this compound a safe house."

"Our decisions are not easily unmade," she reassures me. "What about Peter?"

Of course she'd remember him. She still hasn't grasped that Dauntless is divided – that we're not all the same problem.

"You'll have to deal with him separately," I tell her coldly, "because he won't be coming with us."

I don't want to discuss that particular subject any further, so I take this opportunity to leave, grabbing Tris' hand and pulling her with me.

"Four," Johanna says from behind us, "if you and your friends would like to remain…untouched by our serum, you may want to avoid the bread."

It's all I can do to thank her between gritted teeth before I drag my hopping, skipping girlfriend back to her room. I can't wait to leave this faction.

__

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back from vacation, but I had absolutely no time to write at all during it, so I'm now very behind. For that reason, it will probably be over a week before the next chapter is posted. Sorry! In the meantime, please let me know what you thought of this chapter. Your reviews mean a great deal to me. :-)


	41. Insurgent Chapter 7 – Flight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who reviewed the last chapter, and to my wonderful beta reader, Rosalie! Thank you also to Savanah Rose from fanfiction net, who let me borrow an idea of hers for this chapter. :-)

  
**"** **Insurgent" Chapter 7 – Flight**

I finally resort to shutting Tris in her room, unable to take her serum-induced inanity any longer. And then I pace the hallways, letting my mind wander along with my feet.

_They drug their bread._ Every single meal that I've eaten here, I've been part of their experiment, without my knowledge or consent. It's better than being sent to Abnegation to murder people, but it's still a violation of my free will. It's still a betrayal, and it's still wrong.

The worst part is that some portion of me liked the effect. It made me feel less guilty about everything that's happened. About failing to warn my former faction. About running the simulation when I thought I was stopping it. About almost killing Tris….

The thought takes me back to her room, and I peek in just long enough to see her expression. I don't know what I'm expecting, really, but I close the door the moment she gives me a big, goofy smile. It's too hard to see her acting like this – as if she doesn't have a brain, when she's the smartest person I know.

I'll check on her every hour, I decide, knowing that once she's herself again, she'll be glad that she spent most of the time alone. It will minimize her embarrassment over what she said and did while under the influence.

My stomach rumbles, and I can't help giving it a disgusted look, annoyed that my instinct is still to fill myself up with fresh food and let it clear my head of all bad thoughts. Still, I do need to eat, and it occurs to me that I should warn Caleb about the serum. He'll need his Erudite reasoning skills for when we leave tomorrow.

So, I head to the cafeteria, making a point of dumping everything _except_ the bread onto my tray before marching over to where Caleb is sitting – with Peter, of all people.

"Four!" Peter greets me loudly as I take a wary seat opposite them. "I'm sorry I took that drive thingy." His eyes pass over me, looking utterly spaced out, and abruptly I realize that the Amity must have treated him the same way they did Tris. They were both in the same fight, after all.

Perhaps it's wrong of me to take advantage of his current state, but when will I get another chance to talk to him while he's feeling helpful? So, I face him calmly as I say, "You violated our trust, you know. You should at least tell us why you did that."

He hesitates, frowning briefly at the tabletop. "I'm not really sure," he admits after a moment. "It seemed like a good idea at the time."

He cocks his head thoughtfully as he takes a large bite of his sandwich. Beside him, Caleb reaches for his own, but I place my hand firmly on his arm, holding it down. At his startled glance, I murmur, "There's peace serum in the bread."

For a second, he just stares at me, and then his eyes go wide as he turns his gaze to Peter and then back to me. "Is that what they gave him?" he whispers.

I'm not sure why either of us bothers to keep our volume low – Peter seems to be oblivious to our exchange. But I'm quiet anyway as I nod and reply, "That's why it's so hard to think here."

Caleb gives his plate a look of disgust before pushing it determinedly to the side, reaching instead for a piece of fruit.

Returning my attention to Peter, I ask, "Were you planning to give the drive to the Erudite, so they'd forgive you?"

He seems to think about that. "No, I don't want to return to them." He's stated that before, but this is the first time I consider believing him. "I kind of just wanted it for myself." He slumps a bit in his seat, looking somewhat sheepish. "I figured that I'd be safer if I had it, since it would have given me power over both sides." His voice gets quiet as he adds, "That wasn't nice of me at all, was it?"

It's actually better than what I had assumed he was doing, but I don't tell him that. Instead, I keep my expression cold. "No, it wasn't. But then, you're not exactly a nice person, are you?"

The words seem to make him a bit sad. "No, I'm not…." We don't stop him as he eats more of his sandwich. "I was _mean_ throughout initiation. With Edward and Tris and all of them…." He heaves an enormous sigh. "I'm sorry for being such a dick."

* * *

By the time the five-hour point rolls around, I'm starting to wonder just how long this serum is designed to last. Peter was still thoroughly inebriated when I gave up and left the dining hall, letting Caleb deal with him, and Tris has been bubbly and giggly and utterly not herself every time I've checked on her since then.

My hopes aren't high when I open her door for the fifth time, but to my enormous relief, she seems normal now – sitting on her bed and glaring furiously at the wall. I never thought _anger_ would be such a welcome sight.

"Thank God," I mutter, pressing my forehead against the doorframe. "I was beginning to think it would never wear off and I would have to leave you here to…smell flowers, or whatever you wanted to do while you were on that stuff."

"I'll kill them," she snarls in response. "I will _kill_ them."

I'm not inclined to talk her out of that one…. But it's a moot point, so instead I tell her, "Don't bother. We're leaving soon anyway." Stepping fully into her room, I close the door behind me and pull the hard drive from my pocket. "I thought we could hide this behind your dresser."

Her brows furrow in confusion. "That's where it was before."

"Yeah, and that's why Peter won't look for it here again." Assuming he regains enough brainpower to even try.

She tilts her head thoughtfully before nodding, watching as I pull the dresser away from the wall and wedge the hard drive into the space.

"Why couldn't I fight the peace serum?" she asks abruptly. "If my brain is weird enough to resist the simulation serum, why not this one?"

It's a reasonable question, and I think back to Caleb's assumption that her Divergence was why she was able to think clearly in this faction when he and I couldn't. And to my own realization that part of me liked the effects of being drugged.

"I don't know, really," I admit as I drop onto the bed next to her. "Maybe in order to fight off a serum, you have to _want_ to."

She looks mildly affronted. "Well, obviously I _wanted_ to." But her tone isn't convincing, and I wrap a comforting arm around her shoulders, careful to stay clear of her injury.

"Sometimes, people just want to be happy, even if it's not real."

She doesn't meet my gaze, and her voice is quiet when she answers. "You might be right."

It's such an unusual admission from her that I find it difficult not to laugh. "Are you _conceding_?" I ask, letting my mouth hang open as if in shock. "Seems like that serum did you some good after all…."

She shoves me – hard. "Take that back. Take it back _now_."

"Okay, okay!" I raise my hands in mock surrender. "It's just…I'm not very nice, either, you know. That's why I like you so –"

She doesn't let me finish the sentence. Pointing at the door, she yells, "Out!"

My laughter finally breaks through, and I kiss her cheek despite her annoyance before I head back to my room.

* * *

I spend the next few hours gathering supplies to take with us when we leave tomorrow. It's still hot, so I don't worry about extra clothes or blankets, but I do scrounge up a first aid kit. I also collect a handful of backpacks, and I talk the kitchen staff into giving us food to fill them. It's considerably easier to do that with my mind clear, even though it's harder than ever to maintain a nice front.

By the time dinner rolls around, I'm feeling ready for the morning. Gathering food on my tray, I sit next to Caleb again, since Tris isn't here yet. As at lunchtime, Peter is with him, and I take a moment to scrutinize him. He's not nearly as dazed as he was earlier, but he still looks calmer than usual – instead of aggravated the way Tris was when the serum wore off. Caleb has probably been feeding him bread to maintain its effects. I'm not sure what I think of that.

"Are we ready for tomorrow?" Caleb asks me softly, clearly trying not to be overheard – either by Peter or the Amity. I nod in response.

He gives me a small smile, and then turns a larger one on Susan as she arrives with the other Abnegation. She returns it, taking her typical seat next to him while the others continue to the farther end of the table. It's difficult not to stiffen when I see Marcus among them, but I do my best to ignore him, turning my attention instead to my meal.

I'm halfway through my food when Tris runs into the dining hall, shoving her way through the Amity to reach us. She's out of breath and has sweat running down her face, and I feel instant alarm coursing through my veins. I'm on my feet immediately, grasping her good shoulder to steady her.

"Erudite," she gasps.

Some part of me knew it the moment I saw her like this, but I need confirmation. "Coming here?" She just nods. "Do we have time to run?"

By now, the other Abnegation have noticed Tris' presence – and breathlessness – and they have begun to gather around us.

"Why do we need to run?" Susan asks obliviously. "The Amity established this place as a safe house. No conflict allowed."

It's my father who answers her. "The Amity will have trouble enforcing that policy. How do you stop conflict without conflict?" It's a surprisingly succinct argument, and Susan nods in understanding.

"But we can't leave," Peter says. "We don't have time. They'll see us."

My response is more to Tris than to him. "Tris has a gun. We can try to fight our way out."

It's our best choice, and I'm already on my way to her room to implement it when Tris speaks up. "Wait. I have an idea." Her eyes roam over the Abnegation. "Disguises. The Erudite don't know for sure that we're still here. We can pretend to be Amity."

It's a good suggestion for most of the group, though I doubt my own ability to blend in here. I'm too well known among the Dauntless, even if I could act like part of this faction without peace serum.

Still, I shouldn't stop the plan just for my own safety, so I'm about to agree when Marcus responds. "Those of us who aren't dressed like the Amity should go to the dormitories, then. The rest of you, put your hair down; try to mimic their behavior." They're quick to obey him, and I end up doing the same.

Racing to the stockroom, I gather as many stacks of red and yellow clothing as I can carry, knowing that the others won't have enough available otherwise. I'm back in the hallway outside the dormitories within three minutes, handing out clothes and grabbing an outfit for myself – a red shirt with a high collar that will hopefully hide my tattoos, and a pair of worn jeans.

Almost everyone has changed, and I'm busily shoving their discarded clothing into the trash bins outside the dormitories, by the time Tris pokes her head out the doorway. She doesn't really look like a member of this faction, but at least she's closer now in a red shirt and oversized red pants.

"Do you think the Amity will lie for us?" she asks nervously.

"To prevent conflict? Absolutely." It's an easy conclusion after seeing the other lengths they've gone to for that goal.

Our eyes meet for a second, and then hers roam down my form. She gives a small snicker as she comments, "Nice shirt."

It's probably an attempt to ease the tension, but for me, it's just a reminder that I'm too Dauntless to hide – and that I'm a risk to her because of that. "It was the only thing that covered up the neck tattoo, okay?" I mutter.

She nods, biting her lip a bit anxiously.

The Erudite cars that Tris warned us about are pulling up to the compound now, and I sneak a glance at them as I shove the rest of the gray clothing roughly into the bin, forcing the lid closed over the pile and latching it in place. There are five cars, all silver with black solar panels on their roofs. They bump up and down as they cover the uneven ground, but their engines are unnervingly silent.

Tris and I are fairly hidden where we are, so I take a moment to watch as the occupants of the cars climb out. There are six in Erudite blue and fifteen in black – Dauntless traitors wearing blue armbands to mark where their loyalty lies. Their expressions are alert, not those of someone under a simulation, so they're obviously here by choice. It's disgusting to realize that they're willingly following the people who enslaved their minds such a short time ago.

Taking Tris' hand, I lead her back into the dormitories. "I didn't think our faction would be that stupid," I mutter angrily. "You have the gun, right?"

"Yes. But there's no guarantee I can fire it with any accuracy with my left hand."

For a second, I debate taking it from her. If we have to use it, my aim is certainly more reliable than hers. But there's always a chance that we'll end up separated, and I want her to have a way to defend herself.

So, I simply say, "You should work on that."

"I will," she quips back. "If we live."

It's not a pleasant reminder, and I find my hands moving gently up her bare arms, trying to reassure her. "Just bounce a little when you walk," I murmur, kissing her forehead as I will myself to relax. "And pretend you're afraid of their guns." I kiss her between her eyebrows this time. "And act like the shrinking violet you could never be." My lips find her cheek. "And you'll be fine."

"Okay," she whispers as she twists her hands into my shirtfront, pulling my mouth to hers. For a long moment, I actually manage to forget the danger around us, lost in her scent and in the feel of her pressed against me. But then a bell begins sounding, and I know that the faction is being summoned to the dining hall – the location for the Amity's informal meetings.

Reluctantly, we split apart, mixing in with the crowd of Abnegation who are now disguised in red and yellow. They're doing their best to act like they belong here, but they're still moving too stiffly, with their expressions too guarded. I'm glad when the children in the group abruptly start playing tag; it seems to help everyone fit into their roles better.

My eyes shift to Tris, seeing that she has added a bounce to her step and is swinging her arms in a motion that makes her look considerably more Amity. The sight helps me relax, too, which proves to be important as I enter the dining hall.

A pair of Dauntless traitors stand on either side of the door, guns ready, and it's difficult to keep up my act as I walk between them. But I force myself to follow my own advice and shy away from their weapons the way the Amity are doing. It helps that the real members of this faction are quick to group themselves with me, offering the protection of their presence. I slip through the door with them, following not too far behind Tris toward one of the long tables.

She sits with Susan, and I take the seat opposite her, watching as Caleb and then Peter slide into chairs a little further up the table. Hopefully, Peter has regained enough sense to keep his mouth shut.

But as I look around, I realize that our entire table is too quiet. We're not chatting the way members of this faction do, but I don't know how to change that. I've never been good at idle chatter. So, instead, I find myself exchanging worried glances with Tris periodically while one of the real Amity tells an animated story nearby.

Out of the corner of my eyes, I see Johanna enter the dining hall, with a woman in Erudite blue beside her. Tris' gaze follows them, but I don't dare turn to look, so instead I watch my girlfriend's expression, trying to read what's happening through her face. It's probably a good thing that she doesn't give much away. My adrenaline levels are already too high.

Eventually, someone bangs on a tabletop, and silence falls through the room. Not that it feels particularly quiet with the way my heart is pounding. Still, it's an excuse to turn toward Johanna – and to determine the positions of the people who came here hunting us. So far, they're mostly gathered by the door, but I know that won't last long.

"Our Erudite and Dauntless friends are looking for some people," Johanna says to the room in general. She's good at keeping her gaze moving, not giving us away by staring at anyone. "Several members of Abnegation, three members of Dauntless, and a former Erudite initiate."

It's far too specific a list – one that the Erudite couldn't possibly have figured out on their own with all the death and chaos filling the city. Someone from Amity must have reported exactly who is here.

Perhaps Johanna realizes that, too, because her voice is tense as she continues. "In the interest of full cooperation, I told them that the people they were looking for were, in fact, here, but have since moved on. They would like permission to search the premises, which means we have to vote. Does anyone object to a search?"

Given Johanna's tone, I'm not surprised that no one speaks up. It's obvious that she feels this is the only way to avoid conflict, and she barely waits for a response before nodding to the Erudite woman who is clearly in charge.

"Three of you stick around," the woman instructs the Dauntless guards who are still grouped by the entrance. "The rest of you, search all the buildings and report back if you find anything." Her voice is terse. "Go."

They divide quickly, obeying her without question, and I find myself tensing more than ever as the three remaining guards begin pacing between the rows of tables, evaluating everyone they pass. My entire body is rigid, ready to spring, as a man in Dauntless black walks behind Tris, his eyes passing over my girlfriend. _Please don't suspect her._

I'm so focused on them that I don't even notice the woman in black until her voice sounds behind me. "Your hair is pretty short for an Amity."

_Shit._ Even without being recognized as Four, I'm still drawing too much attention.

"It's hot," I answer quickly, realizing too late that my voice is harsh.

I'm not surprised when her fingers pull back the collar of my shirt, exposing my tattoo. The game is up, and I immediately launch into attack mode.

Grabbing the woman's wrist, I yank her off balance, slamming her head against the edge of the table. She doesn't have time to yell before she falls to the floor, but our commotion still draws the attention of her companions.

The Dauntless traitor on the other side of the room takes cover as he fires at us, and everyone ducks under their tables as several people scream in terror.

Automatically, my eyes turn to where Tris should be – across from me under our table. But she isn't there, and I realize that she must be preparing to shoot back, since she has our only gun.

_Had._ The woman who discovered me is still struggling to regain her footing, and I wrench her gun from her before grabbing her by the back of the neck and hauling her to her feet. She's barely conscious, but she can still serve as a useful shield, and I keep her in front of me as I fire over her right shoulder at the man still targeting us from across the room.

My aim is excellent, but I can't shoot through tables any better than anyone else can, and he's well shielded by one. Still, I keep going, hoping to catch him when he emerges to fire at us.

It takes me a moment to notice that I'm the only one shooting from our area. It's a worrisome thought, and I glance at Tris, hoping against hope that she isn't injured – or worse. But she isn't. Instead, she's sitting rigidly in place, her expression more panicked than I've ever seen it.

"Tris!" I shout, trying to get her attention. I don't know what's going on with her, but she's going to get herself killed if she doesn't snap out of it quickly. "A little help here?" I add, knowing that appealing to her Abnegation side is more likely to work than anything else.

It seems to be effective, because she pulls her weapon as I fire another round at the same Dauntless man. This one finally hits, and he falls to the floor with a cry of pain. I can't tell from here how badly injured he is, but at least he's no longer shooting at us.

A movement from across the table catches my attention, and I watch as Caleb abruptly launches himself toward Tris, grabbing her gun and firing in the opposite direction from where I've been focused.

I whip around to see where he shot, just in time to see another man in Dauntless black clutching at his knee as he screams in pain. My adrenaline and years of training kick in before I have time to consciously think about my actions, and I find myself firing a bullet directly through the traitor's skull. He drops to the floor, blood pooling around his head, and I know beyond doubt that he's dead.

The sight sends a strange sort of frozen sensation through my limbs. I have never taken a life before, despite facing that scenario in my fear landscape every time I've gone through it. It is certainly not a good feeling.

But I can't let it stop me. There's too much at stake right now. So, instead, I haul the woman whom I'm still using as a shield to the front and aim around her at the Erudite woman who's in charge. She made the mistake of not taking cover during our gunfight – preferring instead to yell for backup – and I take advantage of her failure.

"Say another word," I snarl at her, "and I'll shoot."

She freezes with her mouth hanging open, clearly terrified.

"Whoever's with us should start running," I shout to the room as a whole. It seems like my entire former faction responds, rising from under tables and benches and racing toward the door. My eyes flick to Tris in time to see Caleb pulling her to her feet and yanking her with him to the exit.

I watch them for a fraction of a second too long. It's not until Tris suddenly dives at Peter, pushing him to the floor as a gun sounds, that I realize the Erudite woman just fired at them. It doesn't make sense that she went after Peter instead of me, when I'm the one with a gun fixed on her, but there's no time to process that.

"Put the gun down," I growl at her as I point my weapon directly at her head. "I have _very_ good aim, and I'm betting that you don't." She barely hesitates before dropping it.

Releasing my human shield, who falls unceremoniously to the floor, unconscious, I walk backwards across the room, keeping my weapon trained on the Erudite commander as the rest of my group clears out of the dining hall.

I'm the last one out, slamming the door between me and our enemy before turning to run. We sprint through the orchard in a pack, moving as fast as we can through the humid night air. Behind us, voices shout and car doors bang, and then the hum of the Erudite engines comes after us.

My hand instinctively finds Tris' as we near the cornfield, and I pull her with me faster than I think either of us has ever run. This group is going to have to divide soon, but no matter what, _she_ stays with me.

Marcus calls out instructions before I do. "Split up!" he yells as the car headlights begin to catch up with us.

Beside me, Tris grabs Caleb's arm with her other hand, and Susan follows him. I don't see where the rest go – just that they disperse into many smaller groups as we all continue to crash through the cornstalks.

Gunshots sound behind us, and screams fill the air as bodies thump to the ground. All of it adds to the guilt coursing through me. _I should have taken us out of here this morning._ It was foolish to stay the extra day.

We're at the fence now, and I lead the others along it as I survey it carefully, pushing occasionally in a search for a weak spot. I finally find one and grind to a stop, holding the chain links back so my small group can crawl through it.

If anyone else attempted to stay with us, they failed, because it's just me, Tris, Caleb, and Susan at this point. Once again, I let innocents die. And undoubtedly my father.

Susan is the one to voice the thought. "Where are the others?" she whispers.

"Gone," Tris answers shortly. There's a hollowness to her voice that adds to my own, and I pull her fiercely to my side as I move us forward, trying to ignore Susan's soft sobs behind us.

I lead them quickly along the train tracks, staying clear of the dirt road that serves as the usual path between Amity and the city. There's nothing to hide us here, except for the night air, but it will take time for the vehicles to reach us, and hopefully no one on foot will follow us through the fence.

"I have to…stop," Susan gasps behind us, and I reluctantly pause as she collapses to the ground, Caleb crouching beside her and murmuring soft words of comfort.

For a long moment, Tris and I stay silent, standing side by side as we face the city. "What was that, Tris?" I finally ask. This probably isn't the time to confront her, but I have to know what happened in order to figure out how to handle the dangers that lie ahead.

"What?" she asks, her voice sounding weaker than I've ever heard it.

"You froze!" I snap, even more worried now by her tone. "Someone was about to kill you, and you just _sat_ there!" My volume is increasing, but I can't seem to help it. I've almost lost her too many times in the last week – and almost killed her myself once. I have to know that she will defend herself.

"I thought I could rely on you at least to save your own life!" I yell.

"Hey!" Caleb interrupts. "Give her a break, all right?"

"No," I answer fiercely, refusing to let his Abnegation softness affect either of us. Tris needs to be Dauntless now, and I stare at her, trying to impart that. "She doesn't need a break."

But her expression tells a different story, and again, I wonder what happened while I was under the simulation. What did she face, and what did she have to do, to end that attack?

Whatever it was has clearly unnerved her badly…. My voice is gentler as I ask, "What happened?"

For a long moment, she returns my stare, her expression unreadable. Finally, she clears her throat. "I panicked. It won't happen again."

It's an obvious lie, and I simply raise an eyebrow, challenging her to tell me the truth. Instead, she speaks more firmly. "It won't."

She's clearly not ready to tell me more, and it would be idiotic of me to push the matter further right now. We have to get out of here, and she can't afford to break down from whatever she's hiding.

So, I just mutter, "Okay." Looking at the other two, I add, "We have to get somewhere safe. They'll regroup and start looking for us."

"You think they care that much about us?" Tris asks, and I can't help giving her an incredulous look.

"Us, yes," I state flatly. When Johanna named who they were looking for, she singled out three of the four of us. "We were probably the only ones they were really after, apart from Marcus, who is most likely dead." And Peter, who they seemed strangely keen on finding.

There's silence for a few seconds before Tris says softly, "Tobias…." Her voice fades out, and it occurs to me that she's not sure how to react to my statement about my father.

I don't honestly know how I feel about the idea of him being dead, but this is not the time to figure it out, so I start walking toward the city again. "Time to go," I tell the others over my shoulder, but I don't look back to see if they're following. I know full well that they will.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please take a moment to let me know what you thought of this chapter. Also, if you haven't read Savanah Rose's stories (on fanfiction net) yet, you should definitely check them out. I borrowed the idea of Peter being under the peace serum from her; it hadn't occurred to me before I read it in one of her stories, but then I realized that it made perfect sense.
> 
> I'm afraid RL is still interfering with my writing time in a major way, so it's likely to be close to two weeks before I can update again. On the bright side, there are only three chapters left, since this story will leave off after Chapter 10 of "Insurgent" (that's where Wee Kraken's "Killing Four" story starts, and I like her version of the rest of the book enough to not feel the desire to write my own).
> 
> For those of you who are waiting for the second "Determinant" epilogue, I wanted to let you know that I've started working on it. Hopefully, I'll be able to post it within the next two weeks.
> 
> Thanks again for all of your support!


	42. Insurgent Chapter 8 – Factionless

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter took forever to post! It's another long one, and I've been crazy-short on writing time lately, particularly time when I have "Insurgent" available to use as I write, so I wasn't able to get it done sooner. I did, however, get the second epilogue to "Determinant" posted this weekend, along with this chapter here, so I was happy about that!
> 
> Anyway, thank you to everyone who reviewed the last chapter, and to my wonderful beta reader, Rosalie! I really appreciate the support. :-)

  
**"** **Insurgent" Chapter 8 – Factionless**

We're beyond tired as we make our way along the railroad tracks toward the city. Tris is the most awake of the group, seemingly filled with too much anxiety to leave room for exhaustion. Caleb and Susan, on the other hand, are barely mobile. They shuffle behind us, fatigue and defeat evident in everything about them.

My own body is dragging, and I walk on the rail to keep myself alert. The effort of balancing with every step forces me to pay attention, even if Caleb gives me a strange look, as if he thinks it's childish behavior.

We all pause when Tris bends down, pressing her hands to the rail and closing her eyes. She must hear something.

"It's coming," she tells us as she stands again, brushing her palms on her jeans. "I think we should get on."

It's probably our only choice at the moment, but before I can respond, Caleb does. "Even if it's run by the Erudite?"

I answer him automatically. "If the Erudite were running the train, they would have taken it to the Amity compound to look for us." It's an obvious enough fact that I wonder for a moment why Caleb didn't think of it, but then I see the weariness and grief on his face, and I remember that he never learned how to keep going through events like today's.

So, in a somewhat gentler tone, I add, "I think it's worth the risk. We'll be able to hide in the city. Here we're just waiting for them to find us." They're so tired, they barely nod as we move to the side of the tracks.

Tris sways a little on her feet, and I think about helping her, but I know how truly strong she is. She'll make it onto the train just fine. Susan is more of a problem, so I turn my attention to her as Caleb quietly explains how to jump onto a moving locomotive. His instructions are certainly detailed.

Somewhat to my surprise, she follows them well, with Caleb helping to get her into a car before leaping in himself. Tris joins them shortly afterwards, though badly – her legs dangle over the edge for a frighteningly long moment before her brother hauls her the rest of the way in. I swing into the car behind her, using the handle the way I typically do.

Immediately, my eyes search out Tris, wanting to make sure she's all right, but the sight that greets me is far from reassuring. She's staring across the car to where several people are hidden in the shadows.

My gun is instantly in my hand, but I'm no faster than the man who levels his own at me. He's wearing factionless clothing, I realize quickly. So is the older woman who stands beside him, a knife held in front of her. Near them, another man holds a long plank of wood with a nail sticking out of it. They're all clearly ready to attack us.

But on the bright side, at least they're not Dauntless traitors…. So, we stand warily, assessing each other, rather than starting an actual fight.

"I've never seen the Amity armed before," the woman with the knife says. My eyes move over her only briefly before returning to the man with the gun.

It's not until he speaks that I recognize him. "They aren't Amity. They're Dauntless." A large eye patch covers part of his face, but there's no mistaking the voice. Edward. The initiate whose eye Peter stabbed with a butter knife. Suddenly, I'm glad that Tris' nemesis is no longer with us.

Tris clearly recognizes her fellow initiate, too. "Hello, Edward," she greets him.

He inclines his head in response. "Tris."

The woman with the knife interrupts the minimal exchange. "Whatever you are, you'll have to get off this train if you want to stay alive."

My first instinct is to try to bargain with Edward. He and I parted on reasonable enough terms, despite everything. He's unlikely to shoot me in the head, and I can certainly take out the other two if it comes down to it.

But before I can do anything, Susan starts crying. "Please," she whimpers in a tone that is unlikely to garner sympathy here. After all, the factionless are used to having others ignore _their_ misery. "We've been running…and the rest of them are dead and I don't…." She's sobbing full-force now. "I don't think I can keep going. I…"

Tris and I exchange the briefest of glances – just enough to acknowledge that her childhood friend is likely to get us all killed. Caleb must realize that, too, because he begins his own set of pleading. "We're running from the Erudite. If we get off, it will be easier for them to find us. So we would appreciate it if you let us ride into the city with you."

Edward's response is to be expected. "Yeah?" He tilts his head, evaluating Caleb. "What have you ever done for us?"

The answer is actually pretty simple, since all of us grew up Abnegation, helping the factionless. But it may be better not to mention that right now. The factionless didn't exactly do anything to stop the attack, and I still don't know why not.

"I helped you when no one else would," Tris states instead. "Remember?" For a second, I'm not sure what she's talking about, and then I remember watching the surveillance video after Edward was attacked. Tris was the one who stayed with him, staunching the blood and calming him until medical help arrived. For that matter, she cleaned up afterwards. It's strange that something like _that_ would seem like an easy experience now, compared with everything since then.

"You, maybe," Edward acknowledges. "But the others? Not so much." Apparently, he's not choosing to recall that I tried to help him, and that we parted on decent terms…. For a second, I debate reminding him, but something about his expression tells me it would be useless. He _wants_ to hate us now. He _wants_ to treat us badly, the way our society treats the factionless.

Obviously, I need to take a different tack here.

Stepping forward, so his gun is almost against my throat, I growl, "My name is Tobias Eaton. I don't think you want to push me off this train."

The effect is immediate. All three of the factionless lower their weapons, muttering to each other in surprise.

"Eaton?" Edward asks, raising his eyebrows. The shock on his face is almost comical. "Really? I have to admit, I did not see that coming."

I don't answer, and after a moment he clears his throat. "Fine, you can come. But when we get to the city, you've got to come with us." A small smile forms on his face. "We know someone who's been looking for you, Tobias Eaton."

* * *

It's impossible to talk privately in a train car that's filled with other people. Tris sits next to me in the opening, our legs dangling over the edge, and the look on her face begs me to tell her what's going on. But I just can't get myself to start.

And really, what would I say? _My lying, deserting, selfish mother is still alive, while your loving, deserving parents aren't?_

"Do you know who it is?" she finally asks. I suppress my sigh, nodding silently instead. "Who, then?"

"It's hard to explain," I manage to answer. But nothing seems to want to follow that, so I just mutter, "I have a lot to tell you."

She leans against me, her voice sad as she responds. "Yeah. So do I."

It's an invitation to ask what's been going on with her, but I know this isn't the time or the place – for either of us. So, I just pull her to me and take comfort in her presence as we head closer and closer to the woman I have no desire to see ever again.

* * *

"Time to jump," Edward announces as we approach the main factionless area. We're only a mile from Abnegation, and I wonder briefly how safe it is here. Theoretically, these streets could still be crawling with Dauntless or Erudite. But I know that Edward will want to bring me safely to Evelyn, so I decide to trust that he won't get us killed on the way.

Our little group of four stands together in the opening of the train car. "What if we get hurt?" Susan asks with a whimper of fear.

Having grown up in Abnegation, I should feel some instinct to comfort her, but my mind is too lost in what we're about to face. So, I find myself letting Tris do it.

"We'll jump together," she says reassuringly as she takes Susan's hand. "You and me. I've done this a dozen times and never got hurt." The words make me smile a little, despite everything. Maybe some of Amity's kindness rubbed off on Tris after all.

"On three," she murmurs to her friend. "One, two, _three_."

They jump, and Caleb and I wait until they've landed before launching ourselves after them. Fortunately, he manages fine despite his limited experience doing this, and he turns quickly to help Susan up from the ground, comforting her for her scraped knee.

The minor wound reminds me that Tris is still injured, too – considerably more seriously than that. Walking beside her, I touch her arm lightly. "It's been a while since I checked that shoulder. How is it?"

"Okay," she states immediately. "I brought the pain medicine, luckily." Not that she's had any chance to take it…. "I don't think I'm letting it heal very well. I keep using my arm or landing on it."

It's true, and I want to find a way to help her with that, but realistically, it's not going to happen. There aren't exactly a lot of options available. So, I give her the only reassurance I can. "There will be plenty of time for healing once all this is over."

"Yeah." Her voice is quiet, like she doesn't really believe me, and it adds to the worry gnawing at my insides.

"Here." I pull the folded jackknife from my back pocket and hand it to her. It's not much, but I feel safer knowing that she has some kind of weapon, and whatever she's dealing with seems to have left her unwilling to shoot a gun. "Just in case."

She smiles a touch as she accepts it, stowing it in her own pocket as we continue to follow the factionless.

They lead us through the empty streets that smell of garbage, ignoring the rats that scurry out of our way with panicked squeaks. Eventually, Edward stops us, forcing open an old steel door on a crumbling brick building, before taking us into a damp room. A few lanterns are spaced at intervals, illuminating scores of people.

They fill the room, representing all ages and dressed in clothing from all of the factions. They're clearly living as a community, sitting by rolls of bedding and opening cans of food as they talk and laugh.

This is what Evelyn hinted at a year ago. At the time, I was too shocked by the revelation that she was alive to focus on much of what she said, but seeing all of this now makes the words come back.

My eyes catch on a handful of children who are running among the others, playing some type of game. The sight sends a sharp pain through me. Obviously, my mother _could_ have taken me with her when she escaped – if she had cared enough.

For a moment, I let myself picture growing up here, without the structure of the factions or the cruelty of my father. Perhaps I could have been happy….

Edward's voice rips me from the thought. "Come on." He beckons us forward. "She's back here."

Shaking the momentary daydream from my head, I follow him across the now-silent room. All eyes track us, and every single one of them seems to be a reminder that I don't belong with them.

"What's going on here?" Tris asks abruptly. "Why are you all together like this?"

Edward sounds almost haughty as he answers over his shoulder. "You thought they – we – were all split up. Well, they were, for a while. Too hungry to do much of anything except look for food. But then the Stiffs started giving them food, clothes, tools, everything. And they got stronger, and waited. They were like that when I found them, and they welcomed me."

To me, the words come off as excuses. Justifications for why my mother didn't take me with her when everything around me screams that she could have. If it were true, then why didn't the factionless do anything to help Abnegation during last week's attack? Why didn't they at least _try_ to protect the only people who ever looked after them? It would have been in their best interests, after all – to ensure that they continued to receive life-saving supplies.

I've already dismissed his claims by the time we walk into a dark hallway. All I feel now are the nerves twisting through my stomach. _I don't want to see Evelyn again._ I don't think I can handle the pain of yet a third loss.

It was bad enough to think that my mother had died when I was nine. At least then, I had memories that I could cling to. At least then, I could still think that she had loved me while she was alive.

All of that vanished when I found out that everything was a lie. She abandoned me by choice, leaving me unprotected and grief-stricken with only a monster to "take care of me." Since then, I've had nothing. And yet, as we walk closer and closer to her, I find myself wondering what else she can take from me. My fingers wind a loose thread from my shirt back and forth, and I try to focus my splintering thoughts on that to avoid what's ahead.

We come to a halt in front of a metal door, and Edward pounds his fists on it, hard. The sound echoes up and down the corridor.

"Wait," Caleb says unexpectedly. "You said they were waiting? What were they waiting _for_ , exactly?"

Edward sounds almost amused when he answers. "For the world to fall apart. And now it has."

There's no time to process the words before the door creaks open, and an older woman is standing in the doorway. One eye moves over us appraisingly as the other stays off to the side – a lazy eye. It adds vaguely to the unsettled feel of this place.

"Strays?" she asks.

Edward gives a small huff of laughter. "Not hardly, Therese." He jabs his thumb over his shoulder at me. "This one's Tobias Eaton."

The woman, Therese, stares at me for several long seconds before nodding. Her expression is difficult to read, beaten down from years – or maybe decades – on the streets. "He certainly is," she mutters. "Hold on."

She closes the door between us, and I have no doubt where she's going. Who she's talking to. The thought sends my nerves even more into overload, and I swallow hard, trying to collect myself.

"You know who she's going to get, don't you?" Caleb asks me, but I have no ability to give a true answer right now.

It's all I can do to say, "Caleb, please shut up."

The door opens again all too soon, and this time Therese leads us in. We walk through an old boiler room, its machinery surrounding us with dangling parts and unexpected juts. By the time we reach the far end, we probably all have a few extra bruises, but my attention is riveted by the sight ahead.

A table rests there, with a few light bulbs hanging loose overhead, and behind the table stands my mother.

She looks much the same as she did a year ago, her curly hair still black and her olive skin still smooth and unwrinkled. She barely shows her age, despite the supposed harshness of her living conditions. It's yet more proof that she abandoned me by choice, not necessity.

Her expression is stern – almost angry – and suddenly I don't know how to deal with the idea of talking to her again. My hand grabs at Tris' on its own, seeking comfort from her automatically. She links her fingers with mine, returning my pressure, though I doubt she knows yet why I need her so much at this moment.

"Evelyn," I say stiffly, trying to keep my voice from shaking.

"Hello," she answers, her eyes fixed on me as she walks around the table. Her gaze is appraising – calculating. "You look older."

"Yes." My tone is somewhere between a snarl and a stutter. "Well, the passage of time tends to do that to a person."

Either, she doesn't hear the anger, or she chooses to ignore it, because she smiles at me. "So, you've finally come –"

"Not for the reason you think," I snap back before she can finish. I certainly do _not_ want her thinking that I have any fond memories of our last conversation. That I'm here to forgive her or join her…. Even the thought sends a shudder through me.

"We were running from Erudite, and the only chance of escape we had required me to tell your poorly armed lackeys my name."

Any trace of warmth disappears from Evelyn's face, though she keeps the false smile fixed there. "I see. Introduce me to your fellow refugees, then."

Her eyes drift down to where my fingers are still twined with Tris', and suddenly I don't want her seeing that. I don't want to share that closeness with the woman who left me. Pulling my hand free, I use it to gesture to my companions instead.

"This is Tris Prior. Her brother, Caleb. And their friend Susan Black." They're all undoubtedly familiar names to her, from when we were in Abnegation together.

"Prior." Of course, she seizes on that first. "I know of several Priors, but none of them are named Tris. Beatrice, however…." It's so like her to try to get the upper hand by proving her own knowledge – and by "correcting" Tris on her name.

My girlfriend, however, meets the challenge easily. "Well," she responds firmly, "I know of several living Eatons, but none of them are named Evelyn." I would laugh if I weren't so tense.

For a second, my mother simply stares. Her voice is dangerously quiet when she does answer. "Evelyn _Johnson_ is the name I prefer." I flinch at the surname of the lover she deserted me for. "Particularly among a pack of Abnegation."

Again, the response is strong. "Tris is the name _I_ prefer. And we're not Abnegation, not all of us anyway."

Evelyn turns back to me, apparently giving up on one-upping Tris. "Interesting friends you've made."

I'm not inclined to answer, so I have no objection when Caleb unexpectedly speaks up. "Those are population counts?" He's staring at the enormous map of the city that sits on the table behind my mother. And at the chalkboard hanging on the wall, with some type of a chart on it written in shorthand.

He steps closer, his eyes showing the fascination of his second faction. "And…what? Factionless safe houses?" He points to the first line on the chart. "I mean, these places, on the map? They're safe houses, like this one, right?"

It's a welcome distraction, and a small smile of amusement finds its way onto my face at Evelyn's discomfort and annoyance. "That's a lot of questions," she comments, arching an irritated eyebrow. "For security purposes, I will not answer any of them."

That's a confirmation in itself, and she must realize it, because she abruptly changes the subject. "Anyway, it is time for dinner." She gestures toward the door, and Caleb takes the hint, moving in that direction with Susan by his side. I wait for Tris to follow them before starting that way myself, wanting to make sure that she's safely away from my mother.

Evelyn stays too close as we make our way through the boiler room equipment again. "I'm not stupid," she murmurs to me. "I know you want nothing to do with me – though I still don't quite understand why."

It's such an obvious lie that I can't help snorting. Her mouth puckers as she continues. "But I will extend my invitation again. We could use your help here, and I know you are like-minded about the faction system."

She's not entirely wrong about the last part, but even now, her argument sums up everything that's wrong with her attitude. It's all about how _I_ can help _her_ , not how she should have been there for me _as my parent_.

"Evelyn," I snap angrily, "I chose Dauntless."

She seems not to even register my fury. "Choices can be made again."

"What makes you think I'm interested in spending time anywhere _near_ you?" I stop walking so I can face her, letting her see the full depth of my hatred.

"Because I'm your mother." Her voice is unusually vulnerable, almost breaking on the words. "Because you're my son."

It's a relationship that she shouldn't be able to claim after everything she's done, but somehow she does. And somehow, it still rips at something inside me.

"You really don't get it." I shake my head, at a loss for words. "You don't have the vaguest conception of what you've done to me." How can she possibly have torn me apart so badly, so many times, without even realizing it?

But I can't let myself go down that path right now. It will cause me to lose control and break down in a way that I can't afford. So, instead I focus on the easier part of the discussion. "I don't want to join up with your little band of factionless. I want to get out of here as quickly as possible."

Her next statement surprises me. "My _little_ band of factionless is twice the size of Dauntless." I had no idea their numbers were that large…. "You would do well to take it seriously. Its actions may determine the future of this city."

With that, she brushes past me, marching past Tris and out of the room. I'm left staring after her, startled by the new possibilities those words bring to mind. Everything in me rebels at the idea of working with my mother, but there's no question that we need allies if we're going to stop Erudite. I'm not at all sure that we can afford to ignore this option….

My gaze turns to Tris, suddenly realizing that she's still here, looking at me. "How long have you known?" she asks softly.

This is not a conversation I want to have, but I owe my girlfriend the truth, even if it's belated. "About a year." I slump against the wall, closing my eyes at the memory. "She sent a coded message to me in Dauntless, telling me to meet her at the train yard. I did, because I was curious. And there she was. Alive."

I shake my head a little, remembering the betrayal and anger I felt then – and still do. "It wasn't a happy reunion, as you can probably guess."

"Why did she leave Abnegation?"

"She had an affair." I shake my head again, this time more in understanding. "And no wonder, since my father…. Well, let's just say Marcus wasn't any nicer to her than he was to me."

Tris looks hesitant. "Is…that why you're angry with her? Because she was unfaithful to him?"

The question startles me. "No," I respond sharply. I hate that she chose another man over her own son, but I don't care about the affair itself. "No, that's not why I'm angry."

Tris walks toward me carefully, looking uncertain. "Then why?"

The reason feels like it should be obvious. It certainly is to me. But maybe that's only true inside my head. So, I sigh as I force myself to say the words. "She had to leave my father. I get that. But did she think of taking me with her?"

Tris purses her lips, clearly getting it now. "Oh. She left you with _him_."

"Yeah." There's so much pain living in that single word, and I kick at the floor, trying to dispel it. "She did."

Tris reaches for my hand, fumbling a little as if she doesn't know how to connect with me right now. But I want her comfort, so I help, lacing our fingers and gripping tightly.

We're both silent for a long time, and I find myself focusing on this young woman before me. Tris has been through so much in the last two months. So much pain and betrayal and loss. And yet here she is, concerned about me as if I'm the more important of the two of us.

I look down at our hands, and suddenly I know that I will do whatever it takes to keep her safe. Even if that means allying with my mother, I will do it for Tris' sake.

"It seems to me," I murmur, "that the factionless are better friends than enemies."

"Maybe." She furrows her eyebrows. "But what would the cost of that friendship be?"

I'm not sure if she means to me, personally, or to the city as a whole, so I simply shake my head. "I don't know. But we may not have any other option."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please take a moment to let me know what you thought of this chapter. Also, if you haven't seen the second epilogue for "Determinant" yet, please check that out. :-)


	43. Insurgent Chapter 9 – Evelyn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who reviewed the last chapter, and to those kind people who wrote a special extra review for Fanfiction Appreciation Day. :-)
> 
> Thank you also to my wonderful beta reader, Rosalie!

  
**"** **Insurgent" Chapter 9 – Evelyn**

Dinner among the factionless is different from anything I've seen before. We sit in a circle around a large metal bowl, heating cans of food over the fire it contains. When each can is warm enough, it's passed around the circle, and everyone takes a bite when it reaches them.

A vaguely disgusted look crosses Tris' face as she takes a spoonful of the soup I just handed to her, and I can't help smirking a bit. It's certainly not the tastiest dish in the world, but after everything we've been through, I'm glad to have it anyway. We need the calories.

Edward plops onto the floor on the other side of my girlfriend and takes the can from her. "So, you were all Abnegation, huh?" The question makes me bristle, as any hint of my connection to Marcus has over the last two years. He doesn't seem to notice as he shoves some soup into his mouth and passes the can on to the woman on his left.

"We were," Tris replies. "But obviously Tobias and I transferred." It's strange to hear her use my real name around other people, but I don't comment. "And Caleb and Susan are still Abnegation."

She says it smoothly, so it takes me a second to realize that she didn't mention Caleb having picked Erudite. It's probably a good omission – it's unclear what the factionless think about that faction at the moment.

"And he's your brother – Caleb?" Edward asks. "You ditched your family to become Dauntless?"

It's a rich statement coming from someone who transferred, too, and I can't blame Tris when she snaps back in annoyance, "You sound like the Candor. Mind keeping your judgments to yourself?"

Therese leans closer. "He was Erudite first, actually. Not Candor."

"Yeah, I know," Tris answers. "I –"

But Therese interrupts her. "So was I. Had to leave, though."

It's an interesting admission, and I glance up as Tris asks, "What happened?"

"I wasn't smart enough." Therese shrugs as she takes another can, spooning beans into her mouth. "I didn't get a high enough score on my initiation intelligence test. So, they said, 'Spend your entire life cleaning up the research labs, or leave.' And I left."

She looks unfazed as she licks her spoon clean, but I find myself staring at the fire, disturbed by the images going through my head. I've known for a long time that the factions can be cruel, but I guess part of me thought the worst of it was limited to Dauntless. After all, they're the ones who toss initiates out without blinking an eye – and who do the same to their elderly, for that matter. If I was wrong about that…if other factions do the same thing…then maybe my mother is right that serious change is needed.

"Are many of you from Erudite?" Tris asks, almost as if she's reading my mind.

Therese shakes her head. "Most are from Dauntless, actually." It's somewhat reassuring to hear that. "Then Erudite, then Candor, then a handful of Amity." After our experience there, I guess it shouldn't surprise me that people can be kicked out of even the faction of the _kind_. "No one fails Abnegation initiation, though, so we have very few of those, except for a bunch who survived the simulation attack and came to us for refuge."

And Evelyn….

"I guess I shouldn't be surprised about Dauntless," Tris comments.

"Well, yeah. You've got one of the worst initiations, and there's that whole old-age thing."

Tris sits up straighter. "Old-age thing?" Her eyes find mine, and I realize that she must not know about that part of our chosen faction.

"Once the Dauntless reach a certain level of physical deterioration," I explain, "they are asked to leave. In one way or another."

"What's the other way?" The edge to her voice tells me that she already suspects the answer.

"Let's just say that for some, death is preferable to factionlessness."

Tris looks understandably disgusted. The brave are far from kind….

"Those people are idiots," Edward snipes. "I'd rather be factionless than Dauntless."

Something about his hypocrisy annoys me. He clearly wanted to be Dauntless once – enough so to drag his girlfriend there with him even though she obviously wasn't suited to it. If his eye hadn't been gouged out, I doubt he would have left with her when she was forced to go.

"How fortunate that you ended up where you did, then," I answer coldly.

"Fortunate?" He snorts. "Yeah. I'm so fortunate, with my one eye and all."

Again, the words rankle, and I remember what Max told me that night. "I seem to recall hearing rumors that you provoked that attack."

"What are you talking about?" Tris asks, startled. "He was winning, that's all, and Peter was jealous, so he just…." She stops at the smirk on Edward's face.

"There was an inciting incident," he admits, "in which Peter did not come out the victor. But it certainly didn't warrant a butter knife to the eye."

"No arguments here," I tell him. There's no question that Peter is vicious. "If it makes you feel any better, he got shot in the arm from a foot away during the simulation attack."

Edward looks enormously satisfied by the news. "Who did that? You?"

I shake my head. "Tris did."

It's clear from his expression that his opinion of her has just risen considerably. "Well done."

Tris nods awkwardly, looking a little sick at the turn in the conversation. She still hasn't told me everything that happened during that awful day, but it's definitely not a comfortable subject for her.

It reminds me of the reality outside this building – and of the choices we need to make next. "Do you know much about how things are right now?" I ask Edward, taking advantage of his improved mood to gather information. "Did all of the Dauntless side with Erudite? Has Candor done anything?"

Edward answers without hesitation, talking through the food in his mouth. "Dauntless is split in half. Half at Erudite headquarters, half at Candor headquarters. What's left of Abnegation is with us. Nothing much has happened yet, except for whatever happened to you, I guess."

I nod, but I'm not really sure what to make of that last statement. If Candor and half of Dauntless are opposing Jeanine, then why is she so focused on _us_? Why did she send forces to Amity after us while ignoring everyone else? Just what did Tris do during the simulation that got Erudite's attention so strongly? For that matter, why did that woman aim for Peter instead of me?

Clearly, there are things I don't know yet, and it's difficult to make decisions without information. But Tris' expression is guarded again, as it so often is these days, and I know that she's not planning to reveal anything right now. I try to believe that it's because we're surrounded by other people, but I'm not entirely sure about that. She didn't tell me when we were alone in Amity, either.

So, we finish our meal in silence, and then I follow Therese to where they store extra sleeping pallets and blankets. They have a surprising quantity in stock, even after getting all the refugees from Abnegation, and I have to wonder just what resources the factionless actually have at this point. Maybe my mother is right about what they have to offer as an ally.

By the time I return to the large room, Tris has found an empty corner for us, and I lay the pallets down, dumping a blanket on each before bending down to untie my shoes. When I stand back up, Tris steps over her pallet and wraps her arms around my waist. There's an intensity to her gaze as she slips her fingers under my shirt, brushing them lightly over my lower back as she traces the tattoo of the Amity tree that is inked there.

The touch feels _good_ , and I close my eyes, savoring the sensation as she moves higher, slowly outlining each of my tattoos. It's been a long, traumatic day, but somehow Tris' presence erases all of that. I let myself enjoy it, reveling in her closeness and in the allure that her scent always has, regardless of how much sweat or grime covers us.

I almost moan when her other hand finds the patch of fire tattooed over my rib cage, her fingertips igniting my skin as they travel. Every part of me is aware of her at this moment, and I can't help the way my breathing is getting heavier. Or the way other parts of me are reacting.

"I wish we were alone," I murmur, even though some remote bit of me knows that probably wouldn't be a good idea right now. She still has that seventh fear.

"I almost always wish that," she whispers back.

The words do nothing to ease my reaction, and I have to force myself to step back a little to begin clearing my thoughts. We're in a room full of people, after all.

She seems to be as reluctant as I am to pull apart, but she gives me a soft smile as she leans up toward me, and our lips meet in a single, sweet kiss before she lies down on her pallet. It takes me a moment to do the same, and I find myself watching her in the dim light as she slowly drifts off to sleep.

My mind is too full to do the same, so instead I go through the day's events as I lie there. Marcus undoubtedly died today. I want to feel good about that – relieved that the monster who beat me and terrified me throughout my childhood can never harm me again. But somewhere inside me, there's still an Abnegation child who feels like he should be loyal to the man who raised him.

However much I hated his methods, my father was the one who stayed after Evelyn deserted me. He ensured I went to school, and he taught me about computers and cars, and he helped me to hide my Divergence. For all practical purposes, he was the only person in my life for eight years. I don't know how to feel about losing that aspect of him. The human part.

It doesn't help to have seen Evelyn today. She claims that she wants to be my mother again – that she never stopped – but I let her go a long time ago. It's more terrifying than I want to admit to even think about reopening that door.

Tris handled her well, though – standing up to her as firmly as she faced my father. I love that she's so strong. My gaze moves to her again, and I see a small shudder running through her body. A reaction to a dream, or more likely, a nightmare.

I wish she would tell me what's going on with her. It could all be due to her parents' deaths, I suppose. Marcus and I were far from close, yet I'm lying here thinking about him anyway. I can't imagine how much Andrew and Natalie must be haunting Tris' thoughts, particularly since they sacrificed themselves _for her_. It can't be easy to handle that weight.

But part of me thinks there's more going on than that. There must be a reason that Jeanine is so intent on capturing her. And Peter, too.

Tris shifts a little, moving off her wounded shoulder, and something clicks into place at the sight. The last time Jeanine saw Tris, she was bleeding heavily from that bullet hole. Jeanine even said that she was too injured to be of use, and that's why she sent her to be executed. Why she put her into a tank of water to drown….

Somehow, Tris went from that state to ending the simulation within a few hours. Despite everything she had been through, she managed to find her way to the control room and face me. She's a foot shorter than I am, and she was seriously injured, but she fought me anyway – me, a Dauntless prodigy who most people consider unbeatable – and she won. Jeanine doesn't know how, and she hates things that she can't understand.

_That's_ why she's so desperate to capture us. She can't plan another attack until she knows how the last one failed. And she must feel like Peter played a more active role than he did. Hell, she may even think that he's the one who stopped me, given Tris' injuries. It would explain why the Erudite woman aimed at him instead of me.

The sides of my mouth twitch at the realization. Tris managed feats that the smartest person in the city can't even begin to fathom. She really is that incredible….

But then the reality of it all hits home. Just how _did_ she do all of that? How did she even find me, let alone pull me out of the simulation? And why did she fight me the way she did, instead of shooting me? I came so close to killing her – how did she know her plan would work?

I shake my head, once again wishing that Tris would just tell me everything. But maybe it's understandable that she won't. When it comes down to it, I haven't exactly proven myself to be trustworthy. After all, I knew the attack was coming, but I never warned Abnegation. I didn't even save a single life that day. In fact, I did the opposite, keeping the simulation running while it killed both of her parents. And then I almost beat her to death. She'd have to be an idiot to trust me after that.

I shift restlessly, hating everything about that thought. But it just reinforces the decisions that I've already made. No matter what, I will help Tris through what lies ahead. She has already done so much more than anyone else, and has faced so much more than she should have. I won't let her deal with the rest of it alone. And if that means I have to form an alliance with my mother, I will find a way to stomach that.

So, when Evelyn appears an hour later, standing nearby and watching me, I rise quietly and step closer to her.

"I'm not agreeing to anything," I begin, keeping my voice low, "but I'm willing to listen to what you have to say."

In this light, I can't tell if her smirk is for me as her son or for the skills I represent. She places a light hand on my arm, but she doesn't persist when I shake it off.

"Very well," she states. "Where should I begin?"

I consider that for a moment. There are so many things I want to know that it's hard to pick a starting point. "You'll have to tell me what's going on here," I eventually say, "if you expect me to consider helping you. Though I'm still not sure why you need me at all." It's not like I've proven to be very useful so far in this war.

She twines her hair around her fingers in a gesture I remember from when I was younger. "What would you like to know, _exactly_?" Of course she would force me to come up with the questions. She doesn't want to reveal more than she has to.

With a sigh, I decide to begin where Caleb did. "Tell me about the chart. And the map."

She shrugs, as if it's not information she minds sharing. "Your friend was correct in thinking that the map and the chart listed all of our safe houses. He was wrong about the population counts…sort of. The numbers don't document _all_ the factionless – only certain ones. And I'll bet you can guess which ones those are."

"I'm not in the mood for guessing," I snap. It's been _far_ too long a day for that.

It's her turn to sigh this time. "The Divergent." It startles me when she states the word so blatantly. "We're documenting the Divergent."

Whatever answer I might have expected, it wasn't that. "How do you know who they are?"

"Before the simulation attack, part of the Abnegation aid effort involved testing the factionless for a certain genetic anomaly. Sometimes, that testing involved re-administering the aptitude test. Sometimes, it was more complicated than that. But they explained to us that they suspected we might have the highest Divergent population of any group in the city."

I'm beyond baffled. Why on earth would the _Abnegation_ care about Divergence? Did they know the Erudite attack was coming, and they were seeking help?

"I don't understand," I admit. "Why—"

My mother interrupts. "Why would the factionless have a high Divergent population?" She smirks. "Obviously, those who can't confine themselves to a particular way of thinking would be most likely to leave a faction or fail its initiation, right?"

"That's not what I was going to ask," I snap back. I could figure that much out on my own…. "I want to know why _you_ care how many Divergent there are." And why my former faction cared.

"The Erudite are looking for manpower," she answers. "They found it temporarily in Dauntless. Now they'll be looking for more, and we're the obvious place, unless they figure out that we've got more Divergent than any other group. Just in case they don't, I want to know how many people we've got who are resistant to simulations."

At best, it's a partial answer. They've clearly been tracking this information for months, or even years – well before they could have known about Erudite's plans. Shaking my head a little, I decide to try a different tactic.

"Fair enough, but why were the Abnegation concerned with finding the Divergent? It wasn't to help Jeanine, was it?"

"Of course not." Her voice is dismissive. "But I'm afraid I don't know. The Abnegation were reluctant to provide information that only serves to relieve curiosity." That, admittedly, sounds true. "They told us as much as they believed we should know."

It doesn't explain anything, but there's no obvious sign of a lie in my mother's expression. As a guess, she started tracking her own numbers after the Abnegation did, so she'd be prepared for whatever might come of it. But I have no idea why the selfless would care about this subject in the first place, let alone go to such lengths for it.

"Strange," I mumble, trying to sort through the possibilities.

"Perhaps you should ask your father about it." The words send a deep chill through me. "He was the one who told me about you."

"About me?" I can feel my eyebrows rising. "What about me?"

"That he suspected you were Divergent. He was always watching you. Noting your behavior. He was very attentive to you." All I can do is stare, utterly unable to reconcile what she's saying with any memories. "That's why…that's why I thought you would be safe with him. Safer with him than with me."

The last part is a blatant lie, but I can't seem to find a response. I can't even tell her that he died today.

"I see now that I must have been wrong," she adds. A streak of white hot fury goes through me as I finally process what she's saying. Is she seriously claiming that she had _no idea_ how he would treat me after she left?

"I wish—" she murmurs, but I'm done listening to this.

"Don't you _dare_ try to apologize," I snarl. "This is not something you can bandage with a word or two and some hugging, or something."

"Okay." She raises her hands defensively. "Okay, I won't."

My mind is flying in a thousand directions, and I glance at Tris, trying to find focus again. It's like dragging weights to the center of a room.

"For what purpose are the factionless uniting?" I finally manage to ask. "What do you intend to do?"

"We want to usurp Erudite." Again, I'm taken aback by how baldly she says it. "Once we get rid of them, there's not much stopping us from controlling the government ourselves."

I decide to return her forthrightness with my own. "That's what you expect me to help you with? Overthrowing one corrupt government and instating some kind of factionless tyranny?" A snort of contempt comes out of me. "Not a chance." I'll find another way to help Tris.

"We don't want to be tyrants," she states coldly. "We want to establish a new society. One without factions."

It's such an impossible goal that I laugh. "Right. So how are you going to usurp Erudite?"

There's something sinister in the way her mouth lifts. "Sometimes, drastic change requires drastic measures." She raises a shoulder. "I imagine it will involve a high level of destruction."

Abruptly, I'm reminded of the way Jeanine spoke after she'd captured me and Tris. As if the Abnegation weren't even human. As if their deaths didn't matter. It's obvious that Evelyn feels the same way about the Erudite.

With a twist of shame, I realize that some part of me agrees. This war has to end somehow, and after everything Jeanine has done, her faction deserves to take the brunt of stopping it soon.

Apparently, my mother decides that I don't plan to answer, because she continues. "As for why we need you, in order to do this, we will need Dauntless's help. They have the weapons and the combat experience. You could bridge the gap between us and them."

There are so many problems with that idea, but what comes out is simply, "Do you think I'm important to the Dauntless? Because I'm not. I'm just someone who isn't afraid of much."

Her mouth turns down in some combination of disappointment and annoyance. It makes me feel small. "What I am _suggesting_ is that you _become_ important." She straightens to her full height. "I am sure you can find a way, if you want to." There's derision on her face. "Think about it."

She pulls her hair back, tying it in a knot at the back of her neck as if her attention has already moved on. Looking at me one more time, she adds, "The door is always open." And then she walks away.

For several long minutes, I just stand there, uncertain what to make of all this. I don't want to ally with _Evelyn_ , and there are many aspects of what she's suggesting that I don't like. But at the same time, there may not be a choice. At least not one that allows Tris to live.

Eventually, it becomes clear that I'm not going to arrive at any conclusions tonight. So, I lie back down, letting sleep claim my exhausted body. Maybe I'll figure something out in my dreams.

__

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To remind everyone, the next chapter will be the last one in this story. I'm not continuing all the way through "Insurgent" - only to the point where Wee Kraken's "Killing Four" story starts. That chapter will hopefully be up in a week or so. In the meantime, please let me know what you thought of this chapter. Your support always makes my day!


	44. Insurgent Chapter 10 – Candor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the final chapter...

  
**"** **Insurgent" Chapter 10 – Candor**

I wake up early, despite not getting to bed until so late. Tris is still asleep, but I'm too restless to remain on the pallet any longer. So, I rise, careful not to disturb my girlfriend, and then I find myself wandering the building.

It's an old warehouse, and everywhere I go, there are large rooms filled with the factionless. Many are sleeping, but others are clearly on guard duty, watching me with curious eyes as I pass. The recognition on their faces is obvious, and it makes me wonder just how quickly word spread that Evelyn's son had arrived.

There's no doubt that she was telling the truth about their resources. In fact, the more I see of this place, the more I realize what a threat these people truly are. They're probably capable of carrying out my mother's plan and ending the factions just by themselves. And yet, if she was being honest about the role she wants me to play, they need some amount of help from the Dauntless.

It takes my tired brain a while to figure out _why_. It's because my faction is divided. If we fight ourselves, and everyone else stays out of it as they undoubtedly will, she can overpower Erudite easily. If we instead unite against her, she can't beat both the smart and the brave at the same time.

Slowly, it occurs to me that no one else can, either. If Edward was right, and the Candor have sided with the loyal Dauntless, then the city is effectively at a stalemate. With the Amity neutral and Abnegation destroyed, that leaves a faction and a half on each side. No one can win without shifting that balance.

The question is how to do that – and what type of government we end up with as a result.

What do I want, really? On a personal basis, I still hate the thought of allying with my mother, and I definitely don't trust her to be in charge afterwards. But at the same time, she's not wrong that things need to change in this city. The factions have failed too many people for far too long.

And what is the alternative? We can't just leave Jeanine alone, with her quest to eliminate the rest of the Abnegation and the Divergent and place everyone else under mind control. Even if the Candor can help us maintain the status quo, that won't last forever. Eventually, the Erudite will come up with a way to expand their simulations to even more people, and the power will tilt in their favor.

Either we find a way to stop them _soon_ – before they can finish their research, or we side with the factionless. I stop walking, leaning wearily against the wall as I realize that those are the only two choices.

The irony is that both choices lead us to Candor – now. We need to see what resources we have at this point in order to come up with any type of plan. And if there isn't one to be created, then I need to find a way to do what my mother said last night. I need to become important to the Dauntless.

* * *

Edward insists on talking as I try to get myself clean in the cold water from a men's room sink. It's a primitive way to bathe, at best, but I'm dirty and smelly and I need the icy water to wake myself up. Besides, there's no need to hide my tattoo here, in a place with so many Divergents, so I ignore my discomfort at undressing in front of others and take my shirt off as I wash.

"There are a bunch of Abnegation in one of our other safe houses," Edward begins, before I dunk my head under the faucet, scrubbing at my hair and face with a bar of soap. "Your friends, Susan and Caleb, want to go join them."

I nod in acknowledgement as I start on my torso, noticing how dark the water is when it runs off me. I must have picked up more dirt in Amity than I realized.

"We're signaling our leaders there to let them know to expect company, and then we'll escort anyone who wants to go." He shrugs indifferently. "Evelyn wants to know if you plan to join them."

It doesn't take me long to decide, between my earlier realization and what Tris will undoubtedly want to do.

"No," I tell him firmly. "Tris and I will be heading to Candor."

He doesn't seem surprised as he hands me a towel and a clean black T-shirt. Presumably, my mother told him to expect this. But as annoying as that reality is, I take the shirt anyway. If I'm going to be rejoining the loyal remnants of my faction today, it's better to look the part.

* * *

Tris and I don't talk much as we walk the battered streets toward the faction of the honest. There's potential danger around every corner, so we stay silent in order to remain unobserved – and to hear anyone who might be coming.

The city is eerily quiet, though, and we don't encounter a single person before we reach the front doors of the Merciless Mart – the wide cement building that houses Candor headquarters.

We pause there, glancing at each other as we steel ourselves for whatever is about to come. This is our last chance to turn around. To hide ourselves somewhere and let the war proceed without us. But I know that Tris will never do that, and really, I won't either.

So, I take a deep breath and say, "Here we go," as I push through the glass doors.

The lobby is large and bright, with a black marble floor and copious lighting overhead. In the center of the room, white tiles form the symbol of Candor, with its unbalanced scales showing how truth outweighs lies. But my eyes don't linger on it, moving instead to the swarm of soldiers in Dauntless black who have already spotted us.

It's strange that they aren't patrolling outside, but at least they're guarding against intruders here, and we wait for them as they approach.

"Identify yourselves," a young woman demands. She's aiming a gun at my head with one hand, while her other rests helplessly in a sling. Behind her, more soldiers gather, staring at me and Tris. There's recognition in more than one set of eyes, but I answer the question anyway.

"Four. And this is Tris. Both Dauntless."

My name is well known in my faction, so I'm not surprised when her eyes widen, but I don't expect the fear I see there. "Some help here?" she asks the others, and I watch as they step forward cautiously.

"Is there a problem?" I'm careful to keep my voice solid.

"Are you armed?"

I almost scoff. "Of course I'm armed. I'm Dauntless, aren't I?"

"Stand with your hands behind your head." The woman's voice is wild, as if she expects us to attack at any second, and I see Tris look at me in alarm.

"We walked through the front door," she says slowly. "You think we would have done that if we were here to hurt you?"

It's a reasonable question, but our captors obviously aren't looking for reason right now. So, I obey the command, touching my fingers to the back of my head and standing still while they pat me down. A man whose name I can't quite remember gives me a wary look as he takes my gun.

"I have a knife in my back pocket," Tris tells the boy who is attempting to disarm her. "Put your hands on me, and I will make you regret it." Part of me wants to laugh as the boy mutters an apology, but this is not the time for amusement.

"What's going on?" I ask instead.

There's a collective pause while the group exchanges looks, and then the woman who first approached us speaks. "I'm sorry, but we were instructed to arrest you upon your arrival."

I know immediately that we won't receive more of an answer than that, so I don't object as they escort us to the elevator bank. Tris tries again, several more times, before giving up, too. The walk is silent after that, as they take us to a holding room on the third floor. It's a small room with a white marble floor and no furniture except for a bench along the back wall.

The enclosed space immediately triggers my claustrophobia, but I force myself to sit on the bench, breathing deeply. This is no time to panic.

Tris paces back and forth, and I listen to her movements, trying to focus on the reasons we're here, and on what our next steps should be. But it's difficult without more information. There's no way to know why we've been arrested – and whose side these people are on. It's entirely possible that Edward set us up, or was misinformed.

Yet my instincts tell me that something else is happening. If these Dauntless were loyal to Max and Jeanine, they wouldn't be in Candor. They would be back in their own faction or with the Erudite. So, it's far more likely that they've been given false information and that they see us as a threat because of that.

That means we should be able to get out of this. The faction of the honest should know when we tell them the truth, after all. So, for now, at least, we just need to stay calm and answer everything that we're asked.

My gaze turns to Tris again with that thought. She's been hiding things – that much is obvious – and I doubt she's going to want to reveal any of that to our captors. But if she doesn't, I don't know how we'll move forward.

She may be thinking the same thing, judging by how worried she looks as she crosses the room back and forth, five steps in each direction. She keeps biting her lip, too, actually wincing at one point when her teeth dig in particularly hard.

For a long moment, I try to imagine all of this from her perspective. Within the last two weeks, she's watched her faction-mates be mind-controlled into attacking Abnegation. She's seen people she grew up with be gunned down. She was shot and nearly drowned. Her parents died trying to help her. She shot Peter, and probably others, given how gun-shy she is now. And then I almost killed her.

In the process, she lost both of the factions she lived in. And when we turned to a third for help, the Amity refused to give it. On top of that, she found out that the factionless – who should have cared most about the Abnegation – are being led by my supposedly-dead mother and did nothing as the slaughter occurred.

And now we sit here, under arrest, in the last faction we could turn to for help. The entire city has crumbled to pieces, betraying and abandoning and attacking everything that Tris has ever loved. She must feel utterly alone.

_But she isn't._ The thought is almost fierce as my gaze takes her in again. Whether or not she trusts me fully, I'm still here for her. Whether or not she loves me back, I still love her.

As she reaches the wall and turns back again, I find images going through my mind of everything we've been through together. Every moment from when she first landed in the net. She has reached parts of me that no one else ever has, and I have revealed secrets to her that I hid from everyone else.

Despite all the chaos around us, a small smile crosses my face as she starts another lap. _She_ is my choice, I realize now. Not Abnegation or Dauntless or factionlessness or even Divergence. Not whether to help my mother take over the city or keep the factions in charge. None of that really matters.

What matters is the woman pacing in front of me. Regardless of what comes, I will stand by Tris' side. I will be there for her, and I will do whatever I can to see her safely through all of this. And I will love her.

That will _always_ be my choice.

_**The End** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who has taken the time to review, favorite, and/or follow this story! I appreciate your support very much. If you haven't done so yet, please take a moment to review; even guests can do that, and it doesn't take long.
> 
> This was the final chapter of this story. In case you missed it in my previous Author's Notes, I only ever intended to continue this story through Chapter 10 of "Insurgent," since Wee Kraken's "Killing Four" story starts at that point, and I like it very much as a version of "Insurgent" through Tobias' POV.
> 
> That also means that this concludes my "Becoming Determinant," "Determinant," and "Prior Rings" trilogy. It's been a long stretch between those three stories, since they're all full-length books, but I appreciate everyone who has stuck by me this entire time. Your consistent reviews and PMs have kept me writing. Thank you also to my wonderful beta reader, Rosalie, who has made life so much easier over the last two years!
> 
> I'm continuing to write some additional chapters for my "Determinant Additions and Outtakes" story, which is posted on this site. I'm also doing some other writing here, and I'm starting some original fiction (that will be posted under fanfiction's sister site, fictionpress, under my Windchimed account there). If you want to be alerted to new stories as I post them, please follow me as an author under those locations.
> 
> All the best!
> 
> ~ Windchimed


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